


mania

by i_am_sion



Series: a small town like this [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drunk Sex, Fantasizing, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Modern AU, fwb to oops i caught feelings, of course seteth drives a 2006 honda civic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22345489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_sion/pseuds/i_am_sion
Summary: a modern au in which seteth's a repressed youth group minister and byleth's a bad boy with a guitar and seteth's horny about it
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Seteth, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Series: a small town like this [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714864
Comments: 86
Kudos: 315





	1. angels choking on their halos

**Author's Note:**

> i know the title is a line from just one yesterday but the song featured in this is a [different fall out boy song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ztos1mhVx78)  
> 

_Change. Change, you stupid fucking light!_

Seteth sat at the intersection, foot tapping impatiently at the pedals of his 2006 Honda Civic, one hand on the wheel, the other indecisively fluttering back and forth between the stick shift and the growing pain in his pants. He needed to go home. He needed to calm down. He needed this stupid fucking light to turn green!

The roads were empty. He was the only one going home so stupidly late on a week night. But he lived in a small town, where everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew the youth group leader of course, so it wouldn't fare well if he were to get a ticket for ignoring a stoplight. Still, it was tempting. There wasn't anyone to catch him--

_Oh, thank fucking God._

He took his hand off his belt buckle, shifted into first, and released the clutch.

How did he get like this? How did he find himself coming back to that dingy, dirty bar every Wednesday night after work? The curse of a siren's song, he swore. Witchcraft, even, if he were to be extreme. 

It was as if that man had simply… appeared in their little town. Wordlessly, without warning, he and his motorcycle and ripped jeans and leather jacket settled into his little niche at Mittelfrank's, the only pub within a hundred mile radius. Though he stuck out like a sore thumb, he and his guitar soon enough blended right in, as if he had been there all along.

Byleth was his name. Byleth… The name ran circles around Seteth's head all day as he sat at his desk at work. It rolled off the tongue, smooth and sweet like honey. Byleth… He had leaned in with a smirk and a firm handshake when he introduced himself a few months back, dark hair and dark eyes, distant and cool, breath sweet with good whiskey, and… his lips… plush and close….

"Kind of weird to see a youth group minister in a place like this." A smile pulled at the pink bow of his lips, and Seteth wished to fall on them, just to know how soft they were for himself.

"Kind of weird to see... you in a town like this." A+ retort. Felt real smart after that.

Byleth rubbed the tattoo on his forearm awkwardly as if to cover it. "A town like this? You mean God-fearing, white collars, neat tidy lawns, and 6 o'clock curfews? That kinda town?" But the little rockstar laughed, unoffended. He laughed… and Seteth caught a glimpse of his tongue piercing.

Seteth jolted into his driveway, remembering how to use his brakes right before he hit his garage door. Having neatly avoided disaster, he let out a breath and sank back into his seat, looking down at the tent pitching in his pants. He ran his hands through his hair and down his face. He was in quite the predicament. 

The lights next door were on. Damn Hanneman, probably staying up reading his books again in the living room. If it didn't run him the risk of getting caught, Seteth was in half a mind to take care of himself right then and there in the car. On the other hand... how was he supposed to walk into his own home like… _this?_ What if Flayn were still awake? Sure, she was a good girl-- the sweetest, most precious, loveliest girl-- and he was sure she would never stay up past her bedtime, but still… she was a high school senior. He couldn't fault her for refusing his 10 o'clock lights out policy sometimes. Then again… his dashboard clock blinked at a quarter past midnight, so he should be safe, right?

In any case, he tried willing it away, really. "It" being his ridiculously hard hard-on. But his thoughts always wandered back to this… mystery man. He never saw him at church on Sundays. Didn't know where he lived. Didn't know if he even existed outside of the bar on Wednesday nights. He swore he'd stop coming to the bar. Swore he'd stop lying to Flayn, saying he needed the overtime hours. He could stop going whenever he wanted but… who was he kidding? He was addicted. Addicted to the way Byleth would sit and tune on his stool on the small stage, humming warmups without the mic, legs splayed. Addicted to how the shitty dim lights hit his cheekbones and nose and made his eyes shine. Addicted to the slivers of skin he could see through the rips in his jeans.

"Mmm... _ **FUCK!**_ " Seteth hit the steering wheel and turned off the engine in one swift motion. "Fuck it. Fuck it, _fuck it_ \--"

He waddled to the front door, fumbled with his keys for an endless minute, and stumbled through to toe off his loafers in the entryway. He became painfully aware of how hard he was as he went up the stairs two at a time. The house was quiet and dark-- no lights on, no excited FaceTime chatter from his daughter, and he would have thanked God for it if the thought of what he was going to do next weren't so… depraved. He quickly checked in on Flayn in her room. She seemed fast asleep, burrowed deep beneath her seashell-patterned comforter. Good. 

Seteth shuffled down the hallway to his own room, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his stupid pressed shirt as he went. He locked his door behind him, tossed his briefcase onto the floor and phone onto his pillow. He threw himself on the bed, the sheets cold against his burning skin as he wormed about, wrestling with his stupid belt buckle and slacks. This was all so... _stupid._

"What is fucking _wrong with you_ \--" He hissed at himself and at his clothes that just wouldn't come the fuck off--! "JESUS." He nearly hit himself in the face tugging off a sock.

What was wrong with him? Byleth. Byleth was what was wrong with him. It was like this every Wednesday night at varying degrees but it was never this bad. It was his siren song, Seteth swore. He'd bewitched him-- cursed him into wanting to run stoplights and staying out late on weeknights and jacking off in the front seat of his car. A lesser (more sane) part of his lust clouded mind conceded perhaps he was just lonely and the flesh was weak, but… what he saw that night was pure witchcraft.

Pants at long last discarded somewhere unimportant, Seteth stretched out on his bed, giving his cock a few hesitant strokes. He settled back into his pillows and let out a sigh, eyes closed. His shirt, still hanging loosely off his shoulders, smelled of cigarette smoke and draft beer. His mind went back to Mittelfrank's and his usual seat at the end of the counter, farthest from the stage, which was really just a raised part of the floor, a jumble of audio cables, a dinky speaker, and an old wooden upright baby grand. And of course… Byleth.

Byleth slung his sticker-mottled acoustic behind his back and stood before the mic stand, plain white t-shirt and tight stone-washed jeans and all. God, his fucking tight ass jeans…. He readied a karaoke track next. His hips swayed, tilting back as he leaned into the mic, feet planting firmly into the ground. He blended right in with the stage lights, a phantom in dark blue. "This next song's for the holy man at the end of the counter there."

He barely gave Seteth enough time to stop choking on his beer before he inhaled… and erupted into song.

"One~" He roared into the microphone, holding his note with such powerful grace he stunned the audience into silence. He grinned, pleased, and Seteth felt like he had been punched in the gut as the wind was simply sucked out of him. His voice dropped to a sweet lilt, "--look from you~ And I'm on that faded love, out of my body, and flyin' above, oh...."

The mere thought of it made his breath catch in his throat again, and his hand quickened. What the hell did Byleth know about a love that spiritual? What did this godless, dime-a-dozen, Southern delinquent with a guitar and a velvet voice know about loving so much it gave him wings? Oh, but Seteth loved his voice. Loved the way it floated on falsetto with a rugged, almost growling quality. Loved the way his eyes fluttered shut, really _feeling_ every word he belted. Loved the way his hips swayed as he leaned in and settled into the highs and lows of the song.

A choked moan ripped through his throat. "Oh--" 

Why the hell did he stare him down as he sang the line: _"If there were any more left of me, I'd give it to you"_? Why did he have to hold him down with his eyes like that, half-lidded with his heavy lashes? Who was he singing so tenderly for? Why did he look so reverent, so repentant as he gripped the mic with long, delicate fingers and begged for a boost over heaven's gate?

"I'm gonna need a boost," Byleth crowed, holding eye contact with Seteth, "'cause everything else is a substitute for your love."

Seteth clapped his unoccupied hand over his mouth, embarrassed by the noises escaping him. He didn't know he was capable of making such lewd sounds. Needy, whiny, breathy… But in the darkness, he could only picture Byleth. He could imagine his fingertips calloused from the guitar, softly on his lips, pushing past his teeth, gliding over his tongue, keeping him quiet. He just couldn't help himself. His heels dug into the mattress as his back arched and he groaned around his own two fingers.

He wanted Byleth's hands on his body. He wanted to feel the strength in his fingers against his skin, the sting of his painted nails on his hips and thighs. He wanted to be played like his guitar, lovingly tuned and passionately caressed. God, it had been so long since he had been touched. He wanted to be held down and kissed, rough and long, with Byleth's silvery tongue shoved way into the back of his throat. His length was slicked with precum just thinking about it. The edges of his vision were blurring with desire.

Heat built in Seteth's core, and somehow he found it in himself to be equal parts disappointed and regretful in how quickly he was going to finish. He wanted to relish the memory of that night, though he doubted he would ever be able to forget it. He'd never forget the immediate shame he felt in convincing himself that _he_ was the "honey" whose dreams Byleth wanted to make come true-- how in secrecy his ears went red hot. He'd never forget how he watched as Byleth slipped the mic from the stand and, as if in slow motion, approach him from all the way across the bar.

Byleth was singing in whispers. "You're the one habit I just can't kick."

His voice swelled more and more into a growl-- forceful, focused, and accusatory. Seteth swallowed, gripping the wooden edge of his seat. Byleth walked, meticulously, one foot in front of the other, and the music built around them, just the two of them, shutting the other patrons out. With one hand he held the mic to his lips and with the other he pointed. "You're the one habit I just can't kick."

He pointed at the poor youth minister who looked as if he had forgotten what air was.

Seteth had flipped himself onto his stomach as he worked his dick feverishly, ass up, thighs spread, face pressed into his pillow, which muffled his building cries. He choked on his own moans, worried he was being too loud. Worried he'd wake Flayn. But he couldn't help himself. His mind was simply flooded with thoughts of Byleth's voice, roaring in his ears.

"You're the one habit I just can't kick!" The extended hand grabbed him by the tie, yanking him close, and Seteth let it. He let it bring him closer to Byleth's lips, rounding and closing around every word as he sang, nearly moaning at him, and it was delectable. Byleth stood so close, he had to straddle his legs. Close… so close, he could taste his breath. Oh, he could only imagine just what his tongue tasted like. Imagine how that piercing would feel against his hard palate. _Against his cock_ \-- 

Seteth came into his hand, dirtying his sheets and stomach, shuddering and groaning, gripping his pillow as if to tear it. "Ohh… fuck! Fuck, fuck-- oohh, shit…." He inhaled shaky breaths through his nose, and exhaled lovely obscenities, chest heaving, thighs trembling.

As soon as Byleth pushed him back onto the counter and let him go, Seteth scrambled out of his seat, swallowed, adjusted his tie. His heart was beating out of his chest, roaring loudly in his ears, throbbing behind his eyes. Head spinning, he only caught glimpses of the other as he skipped back onto the stage. With the mic back in the stand, he spared no theatrics, dancing with it, caressing it with gentle hands, up and down the pole. Spinning, round and round, wrapping himself in the cable and grinning like a fool. He was having the time of his life. "You're the one, you're the one, you're the one, you're the one! You're the one habit I just can't kiiiiiiiick! Give me a boost!"

His vision was swimming. Stumbled dizzily to his car, unable to catch his breath. He had to get out of there. Fast. Before this… witch finished casting his spell.

"A boost over heaven's gate…!"

Seteth rode out his orgasm, gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat. He milked every last bit out of it, jerking and twitching into his hand, rolling his hips into the mattress. "Oh…" He couldn't help it. It was as natural as breathing; all he had to do was breathe in and his lips would form his name. "Byleth… Oh, _Byleth_ …."

His legs gave out from under him, and he collapsed atop the mess he made, limp and ragged. The man sighed through his nose, the sound disappointed and tired. The fire that crawled across his skin died down, and he began to feel cold. Head turned atop his pillow, he took deep, steady breaths, watching the stars disappear from his peripheral, along with Byleth's strong hands and sweet tongue, and he was left alone in his bedroom. 

The shapes of his wardrobe and door and bedside table became more solid in the darkness. The black embrace of the new moon seeped into his room through the window, chilling him. He supposed he could lie there and drift off into sleep. No use wallowing in his… regret? Well, he couldn't quite call it regret. When was the last time he had cum that hard? It was long overdue. Disgust? Maybe. In any case… he'd leave all that mess for the morning.

But...

His phone buzzed awake beside him, nearly blinding him. Seteth squinted at the unknown number, cleared his throat, and answered it with his clean hand. "Hello?" He croaked.

"Oh, uh… hey, Seteth?"

A shiver scraped down his spine. Hot again. "Byleth? How did you..? How did you get this number?" 

"Didn't have to ask around much… in a town like this."

In an everybody knows everybody town like this. He can just hear the smirk in his voice. Picture the tilt of his head. The rhythmic, idyllic tap of his Converse.

Seteth found it in himself to smile. "Is there a reason you called? It's late."

"Right, I uh…" Silence on the other end save for the clink of glasses and running water. He was still at the bar. "Just wanted to make sure you got home safe. You left in quite a hurry."

"That's… kind of you." With some effort, he rolled over onto his back. He loved Byleth's voice…. "Yes, I got home quite some time ago."

"Yeah? That's good, that's good. Uh, hey, listen, about tonight--"

"Yes?"

"I didn't mean to... offend you or anything. It was just a bit. But I'm sorry if I, like, pissed you off in any way."

Seteth bit his lip and glanced down at himself, spent and filthy, his free hand absentmindedly resting low on his happy trail. "No, no… your performance tonight was… enlightening."

"Yeah?" Byleth chuckled, relieved. "That's good…. Well, I'll leave you to it. Sorry to bug you."

"No worries." His hand continued to comb lower.

"I'll see you next Wednesday?"

Seteth laughed. "Good night, Byleth."


	2. woke up on the wrong side of reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's hard keeping secrets in a town like this. (cw for some slight homophobia)

_People were talking… buzzing, bustling, droning…._

There was always some unfortunate person that bore the brunt of such malicious whispers-- someone sleeping with someone, someone fighting someone, someone getting too drunk over the weekend-- and the next day, it would be someone else. They all moved on with the rise and fall of the sun, readily and hungrily preying on the next poor soul. Such was high school, Flayn supposed. 

Most days, she ignored it, but from the moment she kissed her father goodbye and slipped out of his car and all throughout periods 1 to 4, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was the axle of this rumor mill, and everyone else at Seiros High were the spokes, revolving around her, never touching, always watching from equal distance. The whispers were brutal. The looks she got were… unbearable.

She slid into her seat with a heavy sigh. Sure, it was easy to pick on her. She was the “city kid.” She called Seteth _papa_. She still willingly went to church. Her most popular post on Instagram had 12 whole likes. Her dad blasted ABBA and Journey when he dropped her off and taught kids Bible verses on the weekends. It was always something. She was sure they’d all be over this by now and yet...

With her elbows atop her desk and her chin in her hands, she watched as her classmates filed in for modern world history. A nagging, stormy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach, and it made her fingertips numb. Maybe her friends would shed some light on the situation.

“Hey.” Caspar crashed into the desk next to her. He seemed… apprehensive? Less loud.

“Oh, not you too,” she grumbled.

“What? What’re you talking about?” He took out a notebook and pen from his backpack to appear busy, even though she had never seen him take notes in the four years she had known him. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers.

“What did I do now?” She leaned far back in her chair, agonized. "Was it the fishing tiktok?"

Because that one was totally Cyril's idea.

“ _You_ didn’t do anything,” he drawled, emphasis suspiciously on the word “you.”

Squint. “What did my dad do now--”

As if on cue, Linhardt materialized at the edge of Flayn’s desk. “Flayn, I didn’t know your dad was like… y’know.” He made a quaint downward notion with his hand.

She blinked, the back of her neck going hot and cold. “He’s like _what?_ ”

“You know!” He made the gesture again, a little more delicately this time, with a sterile smile and a wink.

“Oh, c’mon, you’re the only ‘you know’ we know,” Caspar groaned, running his hands down his face. “Seteth can’t be… He can’t be… y’know….”

"My father can't be what--?"

“First off: that’s not true."

"Yeah, it is, Lin--"

"Second off--”

Flayn leapt to her feet, unable to take it anymore. " _ **What**_ are you two talking about!"

Ms. Nevrand looked up from her lesson plan. "Flayn, is there something wrong?"

The room fell hushed for a blessed second before the whispers and giggling started again. Revving up. Staring. Pointing. Buzzing. Buzzing. Like wasps. Sharp. Close. Closer. Loud.

 _Wrapped around his finger_ , they were saying. _Making goo-goo eyes_ , they were mumbling. _Practically drooling_ , they were whispering. _**Gross. He's a f--?**_

Too loud.

The girl bit her tongue. Her face flushed, and her heart leapt into her throat. Without a word, she grabbed her bookbag and stormed out of the room, her classmates' jeers nipping at her heels until she was far down the hallway.

\---

They found her by the pool, curled up in the lifeguard chair and obscured by the umbrella.

"Flayn..." Lin wheezed, out of breath from looking for her all over campus. "Cass, you dumbass, of course she's here."

"I thought maybe she'd be in the auditorium! Y'know, in the sound booth or something… Man, it is bright out here." He stood at the bottom of the chair, looking up. "Flayn, we can't all fit on there, but we're gonna try. You know that, right? You better come down."

She didn't budge, only hugging her knees closer to her chest. "Sorry, guys… I just… I needed to get out of there."

Lin coughed and straightened himself out. "You really don't know, do you?"

"No! Of course I don't know!"

"She doesn't have a Snapchat, Lin." Caspar began climbing up the ladder. "Scooch over."

A sigh from the ground. "We're not gonna fit."

"No, no, we'll make it work." The boy had squeezed himself into the back corner, his arms and legs around Flayn in one big hug. "See, look, you can fit your gangly legs right next to us. Hey, you're not crying, right? Don't let it get to you. People are assholes."

She was, in fact, crying, and she appreciated the hug.

Reluctantly, Lin climbed up, and when, of course, there really wasn't any room for him to sit, he perched precariously on an arm of the chair, holding the back of it for support. "I mean, the video's not even that bad. You can hardly even tell it's your dad."

"What video?" She asked, exasperated.

"You know Dorothea? She was a senior when we were freshmen. The one with the really nice voice."

"Yeah?"

"Apparently…." Linhardt was scrolling through his phone, and he held it out for the both of them to see. "She saw your dad at Mittelfrank's, getting a lap dance from their new singer guy."

"A--? A what!?" Flayn practically snatched the phone from his hand, rubbing her eyes clear from tears. That was the last thing she expected him to say, and she was too shocked to ask why either of them didn't think to tell her sooner.

She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe it and yet…

It was all right there in front of her. That was definitely her dad. Her dad, on a Snapchat story, a big "LMAOOO" sticker text slapped on it. Her dad, biting his lip, gripping his chair. Her dad's strong jawline being lead by the tie towards this… man she had never seen before. This man, who looked like everything her father had been vocally against-- the piercings, the tattoo, the tight pants-- sat pretty in his lap, singing sweetly to him. And it was as if… he let it.

Like he was leaning in.

Asking for it with his eyes.

"How do I replay this?"

"It's a screen recording, so you can just rewind."

"You screen recorded this?" She shot Lin an incriminating glare. He actually had the balls to look at something humiliating like this and save it?

"I didn't know if she was gonna delete it before you saw it. Hey, don't push me, I'll fall--"

"That's fucked up, Lin."

"Don't fucking push me, oh my god--"

As Caspar and Linhardt argued, Flayn played the video again and again and again, scrubbing the clip back and forth. She didn't understand. Wasn't this last night? Seteth told her he was still at the office. He told her he was grading midterm papers. She still had the apology text he sent her with the stupid gif of a sad penguin and the $20 he Venmo'ed her for dinner. Her skin prickled uncomfortably hot.

Part of her was… angry. Angry that these mean teenagers were making fun of her-- making fun of her dad. Angry how Dorothea's giggles from behind the camera were seared into her memory. Angry that Seteth had been lying to her, and for God knows how long. Angry that he thought she would never find out. Angry that she didn't notice that he did the same Happy Feet gif schtick last Wednesday. And the Wednesday before that. And the Wednesday before that.

And another part of her was a tumbling, sopping wet, washing machine mess of confusion and… _relief?_ She knew her dad worked himself half to death. She knew he deserved a break every once in a while. And… She knew he hadn't looked like that at someone-- hadn't had that light in his eyes since…

She could have sworn she glimpsed the ghost of a smile on his lips, just on the edge of the very last frame.

A voice over the PA system broke her train of thought. "Caspar Bergliez, Linhardt Hevring, and Flayn Nathair, please report to the principal's office."

The boys groaned collectively.

Flayn sniffled and handed back the phone, but not before texting herself the video. She'd seen enough for now. 

She understood why the office was calling her but… "What did you guys do?"

"Flipped Ms. Nevrand off."

" _You_ flipped Ms. Nevrand off," Linhardt snapped as he began his descent down the ladder. 

"Haha, yeah."

"I didn't even do anything _bad_." As if he definitely could have done worse things than walking out of 5th period.

Linhardt and Caspar were a two-for-one package, so when one was in trouble, so was the other. If one of them needed to go somewhere, the other came with, and if Lin wanted to do something, so did Caspar, which was precisely how Flayn became friends with Cass in the first place. _Osmosis_ , Lin called it once, and Flayn laughed until her sides hurt.

The girl giggled as she climbed back down, the pressure in her chest lessening.

\---

If her own aunt weren't the principal, she didn't think she would have survived the tongue lashing her friends got ahead of her.

"I'm sorry, Auntie Rhea," she mumbled under her breath.

"Now, I don't know anything about this video, and I don't want to. But we mustn't let bullies get to you, Flayn. You're almost graduating. You can't afford to be called in here like this."

Blah, blah, blah…. She blocked out Rhea's voice and stared at her hands in her lap. She was obviously the victim here, so why was she in trouble? For skipping class? For "causing a disruption"? While the boys were sentenced to detention, they'd contacted her father to come pick her up; she was saving her patience for the nagging he was about to serve her.

Soon enough, Seteth poked his head into the office. "Rhea? Flayn? What's going on?"

"Seteth, I'm sorry to have called you during work. Your daughter is… a bit disturbed by some rumors going around school."

"Rumors?" It looked like he wanted to be mad but couldn't, and his features softened when he saw his daughter, sitting small in the chair before his sister's desk, eyes puffy with tears.

Rhea offered him a thin, secretive smile. "I figured I would let you two sort this out yourselves. I'm sending her home for the day. She's… quite rattled. You know how kids can be."

"Right…."

The walk to the car felt like the green mile, and the afternoon sun beat down on their heads with a heavy hand.

It wasn't that Seteth was mad at her… just disappointed, and as weird as it sounded, Flayn was just the same with him. Words hung heavy between them, unsaid. Seteth climbed behind the wheel and Flayn into the passenger seat, and it wasn't until they were well out of the parking lot that the awkward silence was broken.

"Are you hungry?" Seteth glanced at her, pulling onto the highway.

They lived in a small town: a little tick mark on the map stuck on the outskirts of a college town that wasn't much bigger than their own 30 square blocks of tidy little lawns and identical square houses, isolated on all sides by mountains. It was so small it was almost undeserving of being called a town-- more like a village. Their little family moved there right before Flayn started high school, because Seteth was offered a position at Garreg Mach University as a philosophy professor. The two agreed it was going to be an adventure, in a new town, new school, new friends and a new job… but Flayn knew deep down they were just running away from things. Away from the hospital bills and beeping machinery. Away from Mama's empty plush chair by the window and the patronizing looks from their neighbors and parish. It was like the slough of "I'm so sorry"s never ended. At least moving gave them a reason to finally stow all her things in a box.

"I'm not hungry." Her voice was small and clipped, and her head was turned away from him.

"We could go get fish and chips," he coaxed her. It was plain he wanted to talk but was holding back for her sake.

"I'm fine." The only "seafood" place around was a stupid Long John Silvers anyways. She missed the beach, and the thought made her even more bitter at the situation.

Her father gave up with a heavy sigh. She wasn't budging. "What's wrong, puffer fish?"

She wished he'd stop calling her that. Puffer fish. After her round cheeks. "Where were you last night?"

A tense pause.

"I--"

"You don't have to lie to me." 

Flayn faced forward, and from the corner of his eye he could make out her stony expression.

"I was… at the bar," he said haltingly and gripped their steering wheel a little tighter. There was no use hiding it. It seemed she was already aware of his… sins.

"Why?" She snapped, a little more harshly than intended.

"Why else would anyone go to a bar, Flayn?"

"Why would anyone go to a bar every Wednesday night for the past five months!" She brought her hands down on the sides of her seat in frustration.

He didn't have an answer for that-- not yet anyways, so he kept his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes on the road.

"I wouldn't be mad but you've been lying to me!" Flayn threw her hands out in front of her. "You've been telling me that you've been working, and I-- I! I've been so proud of you, you know? Like, _wow_ , my dad works so hard! He deserves a break!"

Seteth worried his bottom lip between his teeth. If he said that didn't hurt, he'd be lying. He felt like he let her down.

"But no! You've just been taking a break this entire time! Drinking! On a weeknight!" Everything was bubbling out of her mouth like a backed up sink, overflowing with her pent up emotion from the day. She didn't have control over a word she said. "And Dorothea put a video up of you and this… This man! This whole stranger, dancing in your lap and serenading you!"

His blood ran cold. Of course people saw. And of course someone took a video. He had no way of denying what had transpired, even if he did have the intention of lying to his own daughter further. The car merged into an exit.

"And people at school..! People at school have been saying some incredibly hurtful things about you, papa." Her voice cracked-- quivered as she called him _papa_ \-- and the sound of her crying broke his heart. "I don't want them saying these things about you if they're not true, so please! I don't care what's going on. Please, just tell me the truth."

What was he supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to make this better? She wasn't three anymore. He couldn't just kiss this boo boo away. Couldn't distract her with offers of sweets. Flayn was a young adult (as much as he was loathe to admit it) and she deserved the truth from him.

The little Honda Civic pulled in front of a gas station EZ mart.

First things first, Seteth opened the center console for a packet of tissues, and initially she recoiled when he attempted to wipe her face but eventually gave in.

"Flayn, I…" He paused with a pregnant sigh, daubing her cheeks gently. "I am so sorry. I don't have any excuse for my going out so often or for lying to you, and I don't expect you to forgive me." He smoothed her hair down, took her chin in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. Big and beautiful, just like her mother's. "You are the most important thing in my life, and words cannot describe how sorry I am that you went through this because of my actions, and I mean that. You know that, right?"

"I know." She sniffled.

"I don't know who that man was, and I did not approve of what he did," he said, which wasn't entirely a lie. He took a deep breath. "Whatever you may have heard from the other students at school…."

They told each other everything. That's just how it always was, and she loved him for it. And perhaps… perhaps Seteth didn't have all the words for everything yet. She could see it in his eyes and furrowed brow and ticked jaw. He didn't know how to tell her yet. Didn't know what was going on with this mystery man and his weekly escapades or what was going to happen. Didn't know how to tell her if he was a " _you know_ " or if she was completely mistaken. She could see it in his eyes and in his furrowed brow and his ticked jaw, and it all took her back to the time when he told her-- or rather, _tried_ to tell her her mother was sick.

But...

"Papa." Before he could say anything, Flayn interrupted him and took his hands into hers, just as she did back then. "You know I'll love you no matter what," Flayn said at length, and her father, taken aback, laughed.

"That should be my line, Flayn."

She shook her head, dismissing the thought as she wiped her nose on her sleeve. She seemed satisfied with just the apology. "You're an adult. I can't stop you from doing what you want with your life."

"Again, I feel like I should be the one saying that to you."

"But I don't want you lying to me. I want… I want to be able to protect you and to stand up for you. I want to be able to look at you and know what I'm fighting for. So just tell me… everything's okay. Tell me I don't have to worry about you." She spoke haltingly, not exactly knowing what she was saying, just trying to get to the bottom line.

Seteth's heart melted. All he could do was caress his baby's puffer fish cheeks and pull her in for a kiss on the forehead. "When did you get so grown up, my darling?"

"I've always been this way," she declared as a matter-of-factly. It felt funny watching her say that with a straight, tear-stained face.

"Right, right."

She sat back in her seat, facing forward again. "You shouldn't go out on weeknights anyways. I mean, who does that? Why not go on Fridays?" She glances at him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Seteth scoffed. “Oh, are you giving me a curfew?”

“No, I am striking a deal with you.”

A deal? He didn’t really think he was in a position to negotiate but… anything for his little girl. “Name your conditions, puff.”

“You do whatever you want on Fridays….” She paused for the suspense, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I get to hang out with Lin and Cas on Fridays too.”

Okay, maybe not _anything_ for his little girl. “Flayn, you know how I feel about those two.”

“We’re just gonna watch movies on Netflix and stuff!”

“Isn’t that teenager code for sex? Netflix and stuff?”

Flayn collapsed in on herself, laughing. "No, dad."

"No? What is it then?"

She unbuckled her seat belt and opened her door, still giggling to herself.

"Where are you going?"

"Gonna get a slushie."

And so he followed her into the gas station EZ mart for slushies, feeling a little lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...due to popular demand i've decided to make this a Whole Thing. thank you all sm for all of ur support i've never gotten such positive feedback on... any of my work. i know this chapter was a little dialogue heavy but i wanted to do a little Exposition so if u came here for the porn stick around for the porn because... chapter 3 is.... spicy. 
> 
> also huge thank u to sofi for reading this over for me pls look at the [setleth art](https://twitter.com/burgerpaws/status/1208530690922422277) she made for me and check out the rest of her art too !!!


	3. in search of your glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know how ties work." Byleth's hands fidgeted with the tidy Windsor knot at Seteth's neck. Up until then, his stride was confident, and his hands were sure, but his eyes slowed to ask his permission, a silent, "Are you sure about this?"
> 
> Was he sure? No, he was drunk. They were both drunk. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't need it.

_How did it end up like this?_

Seteth wracked his brain for a reason-- backtrack through the night and recount the beers. But his thoughts and memories were swimming in murk, and he found no concrete answer for his question, just as the only number he could put to the drinks he imbibed was "one too many."

"Where were you Wednesday?" Byleth asked, leaning on the counter beside him. The speakers played oldies above their heads. He obviously wasn't singing.

"Why?" Seteth gave him a side eye as he nursed a beer. "Did you miss me?"

"Who wouldn't miss their biggest fan?"

They shared a laugh.

And they talked about this and that, throughout the night. Little things between big sips of beer and Byleth getting up to wait on tables. Apparently he did in fact exist outside of Wednesday nights, at least, and that tickled Seteth. It excited him. 

When he drove there that night, he was actually in the mind to break this all off cleanly. He wanted to confront Byleth about Dorothea's video and the rumors circulating about them. He wanted to tell him what had happened was a mistake-- a big misunderstanding, and he did not want it happening again.

But Seteth remembered Byleth placing another beer in front of him, even though he didn't order it, and his heart fluttered so violently the thought of bringing the video up evaded him. He vaguely remembered the other beers after that-- they all blurred together. He could _almost_ recall the shot of Jäger he tossed back with him sometime after midnight when he went on break. He couldn't remember when Byleth finally sat beside him, sipping a double rum and coke, but he definitely knew the song that was playing after the last patron other than himself stumbled out the door at 2 AM.

_Blue moon, you caught me standing alone~_

And then the next thing he remembered was Byleth's hand on his thigh at the counter, now on his chest as they stumbled up the stairs, wheeling them both back into the small studio above Mittelfrank's. The floorboards creaked under their clambering footsteps, and their entangled shadows stretched long over the posters and polaroids plastering the walls of Byleth’s room.

Seteth could hardly believe it.

Byleth’s room, with a mattress on the floor, the U-haul boxes in the corner, a lamp, and a surprising number of potted plants. Byleth's room, smelling like the night air wafting in from the open window and musk, even better than he imagined it to be. Byleth's room, which he got with the gig at Mittelfrank's, which was the bar that Seteth now frequented every Friday instead of Wednesday as per that deal he made with his daughter.

...

_Seriously, **how** did it get to this?_

"I don't know how ties work." Byleth's hands fidgeted with the tidy Windsor knot at Seteth's neck. Up until then, his stride was confident, and his hands were sure, but his eyes slowed to ask his permission, a silent, "Are you sure about this?"

Was he sure? No, he was drunk. They were both drunk. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't need it. 

It was as if his body operated on auto-pilot. His head said no but his leg kicked the door closed behind him. His head struggled to turn him the other way, but his hands tugged off the tie, tossed it onto the bed, and pushed Byleth back into the wall. The man responded with a sharp “oof,” and that was the only switch in him that could get him to slow down. Be more considerate.

Byleth, with the tie out of the way, made quick work of the buttons on Seteth’s shirt, which he pushed off his chest and shoulders. He whistled appreciatively at what he saw and bit his bottom lip as he drank him in with his eyes. Seteth felt his face and ears heat up; his vulnerability in the moment made him pause, and he saw Byleth in slow motion. His long lashes, his pink lips. The sharp angle of his jaw and neck and the dip of his collarbone underneath his t-shirt. The scent that filled the air between them and the warmth from his thighs between his own. He wanted to see more. He wanted more.

Seteth shrugged off his shirt as Byleth ran gentle fingertips through his hair and down his chest. It had been so long since he had been touched like this-- since he had felt the warmth of another body on his own, that it all felt foreign, like a language he had once known but forgotten from under-use. Alien, with sweet notes of nostalgia, like deja vu. He watched hungrily as Byleth discarded his own shirt, and the skin on his stomach and chest was revealed to him like curtains rising off a stage. It almost embarrassed him how much he loved his nipples, pink and perky, and the sight switched on Seteth’s too-fast auto-pilot again.

He just had to touch them. His hands roamed the soft planes of Byleth's chest, and his touch raised goosebumps in its wake. Oh god, what was he _doing?_ He didn’t know and he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop touching Byleth, feeling his cute little nipples harden under his fingers and tongue, and _oh god_ , he’s biting them. Suckling on them. Byleth let out a little whine, and the tip of Seteth’s cock went wet with arousal. 

Eyes locked, he kicked off his shoes and Byleth struggled to do the same with his high top laces tied around his ankles. With a knee at Seteth's crotch, he guided them both down onto the mattress, where he sat straddling his legs. The younger man untied his Converse this way, rocking his hips slowly.

Seteth groaned at the friction. He could feel their lips being drawn together, like magnets, and it took all of his strength to pull away. But Byleth leaned in, and the way he kissed him was everything he ever wanted and more: deliciously soft and warm, tasting of rum and coke and afternotes of Marlboro blacks. Open-mouthed, and panting, their bodies pressed together, as close as they could without crawling into each other's skin, and the bed springs squeaked in protest. Byleth's tongue was sweet, and his piercing scraped against his gums and the inside of its cheek, dragging along sloppily-- lazily, like they had all the time in the world to kiss and be kissed in return.

But Seteth impatiently pulled him in, hands tangled in his hair. His pants were getting too tight under the other's weight. His head swam with alcohol and lust, and this was not enough. The small voice in the back of his head telling him it wasn’t too late to turn back grew smaller still, and with each passing second, each breathy, content sigh, he felt his willpower crumble. 

"Pants…." He gasped, pushing away to breathe. To fumble with Byleth's fly.

“Pants?”

“Off.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“...no.” The alcohol made him honest, and that made Byleth smile against his lips.

“First time for everything right?” The singer peeled himself off Seteth’s broad chest and sat back, tugging his skinny jeans off his hips. Seteth found his hands super-glued to his waist, pulling him close again. His will was slipping like sand through a sieve. “Hold on, hold on….” Byleth chuckled under his breath as he kicked away his Converse and jeans. With gentle fingers starting at his belt, he helped pull off Seteth’s slacks, and he paused, biting back an excited grin, unmoving. Staring.

“What?” Seteth panted, hooking his thumbs into the hem of Byleth’s briefs. 

“Didn’t think you were gonna be that big.”

The poor man’s face burned. He tried to ignore it as he yanked off the last piece of clothing, and Byleth did the same to him. In their endeavor to be rid of their underwear, their lengths brushed together, and they lost themselves, dry humping, intoxicated by drink and heat. Quiet save for shuddering sighs and the smack of Byleth’s lips on Seteth’s neck. Somehow they managed to get his boxers past his ankles, and finally there was nothing between them and their skin. The younger man, once again straddling the other's legs, reached down and took hold of both their cocks in one hand, and when he moved his hips, Seteth gasped, eyes rolling back. A coiling, twisting intensity-- this feeling, amongst the jumble of all others, he knew all too well-- settled in Seteth's gut.

"Byleth," he said his name with the whisper of a moan.

Byleth grunted in response, eyes locked on his as he jerked them both off with his hand. It was as if he didn’t hear him. 

"Byleth," he said, a little more urgently this time. A little more needy.

“Alright, alright.” He crawled off him with a soft kiss to the jaw, and that gentle passing gesture had such an effect on him that his dick went slick with precum.

Byleth crawled over and grabbed a small bottle and a box of condoms from beneath the mattress. Seteth barely had any time to think about the implications of this. How many people had already seen this bed? Who else already knew Byleth's body? Were they all… men? But all his thoughts were tossed out a metaphorical window as he watched him lie down and the tight pink rim of his hole stretched around one of his lube-slicked fingers. One at first, slowly, methodically, and then two…. The poor youth group minister felt the wind get sucked out of his lungs, and Byleth relished in his flush. Watched as Seteth sat up with his hand latched onto his cock and languidly stroked, as if hypnotized.

He grinned. Even as he lied there, bare and working his ass open, he was an arrogant son of a bitch. "Like what you see?"

He couldn't say no. All that slipped from his lips was a gruff, "Hurry up" that was equal parts embarrassed and enthused. He held himself over Byleth’s lithe form. He looked so delicate. Seteth traced every line on his body with hungry eyes-- the tone of his muscles, the sharp dips of his hip bones, the swirling, symmetrical design of the tattoo on his arm. “Hurry up.” Seteth pressed the tip of his dick against his fingers, but Byleth pulled him in with a soft hand behind his neck, going at a tempo much, much slower than his. It was infuriating.

“Slow down,” he whispered into his pulse, and Seteth groaned. He loved, loved, _loved_ his voice. "Slowly, okay? That's it." His fingers withdrew and took hold of Seteth's length. Guided it into him. Seteth's hips jerked, prepared to move, and Byleth made a pained noise. "Wait, wait…." He gasped, keeping him at bay with a hand at his belly, and he tided him over with sweet kisses to the jaw and neck as he got used to his girth. "There you go. Slowly."

Seteth shuddered and huffed atop him. The tight heat around his cock felt so damn _good_ , but the way Byleth moved incrementally as he made him wait, restrained him with his lovely, breathy voice… it quickly became torture. His desire was suffocating. His body was on fire. He wanted-- no, he needed to fuck him. Patience is a virtue but time is a commodity and he didn't have much of either here. 

_Forget_ slowly.

Seteth flipped Byleth over onto his stomach, and a yelp caught in his throat.

"Seteth, wait--"

He could hardly recognize his own voice as it growled back, "No." He pinned both his hands above his head, onto the mattress. Pleasure mingled with the ache in the pit of his stomach. Memories overcame him. Memories of nights he had spent alone, tormented and consumed by thoughts of doing exactly this, longing to touch him. To fuck him. To hear him sing. 

And sing he did.

"Oh-- oh, Seteth..! Seteth!" Byleth keened into a pillow. His fingers twitched in his palm, fisting the sheets. "Seteth, slow down."

It doesn't seem like he meant it, and Seteth couldn't stop anyways.

As he fucked him like this, face down-- away from Byleth's cold stare and soft lips-- he could only hear how the pillow muffled his lovely siren call. A sense of disconnect from the situation washed over him, clinging to his skin with his sweat. He floated above the frustration that had built up in the past few months, and the only thing keeping him tethered to the real world was the heat growing in his core.

He pounded him into the mattress, and the bed springs sounded with an angry rhythm. Seteth held the other's hips just slightly off the mattress, and Byleth cried out, moaning a word halfway between "more" and "please."

"Oh, shit--" He turned his head and cursed freely into the air. "There! Oh, fuck, shit..! Seteth, there--"

His words slurred together, a fuzzy blue streak knotting in his throat as he pushed his ass up onto Seteth and Seteth met him halfway with eager thrusts. 

"Oh… Oh, Seteth, I'm cumming! I--"

_Seteth loved his voice._ The words shot something white hot straight down his spine, but much to his frustration Byleth came quietly, going stiff one moment with a gasp and limp with a sigh.

It didn't stop him from seeing white a second later, however, and he came moaning against the nape of Byleth's neck with the scent of his skin, above all other senses, overpowering him. 

The air lay thick with their passion, draped on their bodies like a heavy shawl.

Byleth laid his head back down on the pillow, and Seteth felt his back rise and fall with his breath against his chest and stomach, shallowing out.

The pleasure morphed into a rippling wave of regret. Seteth was reminded of the frost that settled over his skin-- the kind that immediately followed spending himself into his hand, alone in his bedroom, as he did every Friday night, and this time it seeped into his bones. He was back in his body, and his body felt cold. He felt like he had done something he shouldn't have-- a feeling made even worse by the nagging "I told you so" voice in the back of his head.

"Are you okay?" Byleth turned his head to look at him. Hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and it struck Seteth just how handsome he was.

He felt suddenly sober. He felt weary. Like he had emptied everything into screwing the poor guitarist as mercilessly as he did, and it was all he ever had. 

Seteth pulled out, again to Byleth chiding him, "Slowly," and he was disgusted he had made such a mess. It took him a while to find his voice. "...Yeah," he said, but he felt as if he were partially lying. Still on autopilot, he reached out and brushed Byleth's too-long bangs out of his eyes. "You?"

Byleth took his hand and pressed a drowsy kiss to his fingertips. "Never better."

"I--" He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. He reached for his socks and his shirt and pants and belt. "I have to go."

Byleth attempted to roll over onto his back, but his hips screamed with the effort. "Ah-- you can't drive like that."

"I'll be fine." He managed to get one leg into his trousers and then the other without much trouble. They felt horrible and sticky, but that was really the least of his problems.

"You sure?"

"Positive." He slipped into his shoes and shrugged his shirt at least onto his shoulders. 

And Seteth stumbled into the night without saying goodbye. Byleth lied alone in the darkness of his bedroom, sore and filthy, as he listened to his car turn over. The crunch of gravel beneath rubber faded far into the distance.

With a secretive smile, he mumbled to no one but himself and the posters on his wall, "He'll be back." His hand found purchase in a silky tangle of fabric amongst the sheets. "He forgot his tie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was literally so embarrassing to write out and i am so sorry this chapter is only porn i just needed to get it out of my system i probably won't do this again ;;w;;
> 
> also thank you so so much to ria for drawing [our best boy](https://twitter.com/44kage/status/1223700661193199618) she keeps us well fed with her art ♡


	4. make me stumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He realized what their relationship could be called, and the name he came up with felt like a rock in his mouth-- bitter and hard to comfortably fit his tongue around.
> 
> _Friends with benefits._

Byleth's teeth clamped into his shoulder.

It occurred to Seteth, a little belatedly, this position was oddly intimate, but it didn't stop him from thrusting into the plush skin between Byleth's legs, face to face. He had him up against the wall, with his corduroys pushed down to his knees and Byleth's arms around him. With one hand, Seteth gripped Byleth's length, stroking it tenderly, and with the other, he squeezed the sides of his neck.

God, it was madness. What was Byleth _doing_ to him?

He really was addicted. He found himself back at the bar-- back in Byleth's embrace and in his bed, every Friday night. Sometimes even Wednesdays, like an old habit. Sometimes, when his cravings were particularly bad and he could sneak off campus, he'd veer his car around the back of the bar, and Byleth, as if expecting him, would be there, waiting with a cigarette in his hand and a cocky smirk on his face. He'd make some smug remark about being back for more as he held open the door and Seteth would be tempted to turn right back around, but he could never think with the head on his shoulders-- only the one in his pants.

But Byleth was just so gorgeous, flush against his chest, wrapped around his little finger, whimpering and whispering little needy nothings.

Sometimes, he figured he could go without the fucking, simply sit and have a drink and some conversation, and go on his merry way, but at some point it had become a routine. Rote. Byleth would place his hands on his chest, thumbing his collar, and look at him _just so_ , and…

Seteth ground his hips into him, and Byleth sighed against his throat and squeezed his thighs around the other's cock. 

He realized what their relationship could be called, and the name he came up with felt like a rock in his mouth-- bitter and hard to comfortably fit his tongue around.

Friends with benefits. 

The friends part he wasn't so sure about. With the way things were, they just had a drink, had sex, maybe a nap, maybe a little conversation inbetween, and went their separate ways. Could that be called friendship? The benefits part on the other hand... Well. He could get his fix to his addiction whenever he so pleased. He admitted he was addicted to Byleth's wicked tongue and firm hands on his skin, and people always said that admitting one has an addiction was the first step towards recovery, but… this was not something he was planning on fixing any time soon.

Not when Byleth's mouth felt like it just fit against his. Not when his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree whenever he saw him walk through the door of Mittelfrank's. Not when his hand reached for him in his sleep as he slid off the bed. When he looked at it like that, surely… surely this wasn't a _bad_ thing.

"Seteth," he croaked, slowly palming his cheeks with quivering fingers. His eyes fluttered shut, and he could tell he was close with the way he moaned his name. "Seteth, Seteth, oh, Seteth--"

"Seteth?" 

He jolted as if shocked as Mercedes' voice yanked him back to the present. He was at his desk. At the university. Monday afternoon. He clued himself back in with the familiar scenery of his office. The political comics on the wall, the plaster bust of Socrates on the shelf, the pile of ungraded quizzes. 

"Yes?" Seteth blinked at her, patting his flushed cheeks.

"Are you alright?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" He simpered unconvincingly. 

"You just seemed a little out of it during today's lecture is all," she said. "Are you sleeping enough? You know you can rely on me a little more if you need help. I am your TA after all."

The girl simply radiated sunshine, and he was lucky to have her. 

"Hm? Oh." He leaned over and cracked open the window. "Yes, perhaps I'm a little tired."

"Oh, I bet," she crooned, setting her backpack down on the floor and switched on the coffee maker. "Between midterms for five classes and Sunday school and planning that retreat for spring break… I'm surprised you have time to breathe!"

Or to screw Byleth every other day, he thought snidely to himself.

Seteth stretched his arms above his head and took a deep breath. "You're one to talk, Miss Double Major in philosophy and theology."

"Still..." Mercedes paused, thinking. "Here." She grabbed a hefty ream of paper from his desk and moved it over to hers. "I'll grade these ones."

"Mercie--"

"I will hear none of it."

And that was that. 

They worked in silence for a while until the water boiled and Seteth stood to get it before Mercedes could even think about it. He took his black and she took hers too sweet to recognize it was coffee. He set the mug in front of her.

"Oh, thank you." She blinked, studying him carefully. "Are you hurt?"

"Hm?"

"You have a…" She reached up and tugged on his collar gently. "--a little bruise there on your neck?"

Seteth froze. "It's a… It's just--" He couldn't think of a lie on the spot.

…

It was as if he could see the lightbulb go off in her head. "Oh! I am so sorry, I didn't mean to…!" 

He grimaced and straightened out. There was no point in hiding it. "Is it bad?"

She drummed her fingertips on her mug. "It's nothing a little makeup can't fix."

"But is it… _noticeable_?"

"...Yes," she drawled at length.

He sighed resignedly. "Well, I have a lecture later and no makeup." 

"Oh! Oh, I do." Mercedes set her coffee down on her desk and began to root through her bag. "Here, sit. I'm surprisingly good at this."

Seteth obeyed, sipping his coffee warily. He watched as his TA pulled out a small pouch embroidered with macarons, a handful of brushes, and an egg-like… sponge?

"I do this for Dimitri all the time. Dedue is usually so gentle with him, you would never guess that--"

"Nope. No, I don't want to know. I don't want to hear it."

She giggled and pulled her chair up next to his. "Yeah, of course not." She worked with fast and gentle fingers to cover up the hickey.

The room was quiet for a bit. Seteth kept his eyes purposely elsewhere, and he jumped a little when she spoke next.

"Is she nice?"

"Who?"

"You know." Her fingers pressed just a tiny bit harder into his neck. Or at least it felt like it.

"Oh. _Her_." Seteth thought on it a second. Was Byleth nice? He couldn't think of a textbook instance of him being nice-- good Samaritan acts of kindness, rescuing kittens, helping old ladies cross the street. Things like that. But his mind wandered to the sight of the pale smooth expanse of Byleth's back. The halo of cigarette smoke framing his pretty face. The way sunlight fell on his cheeks as he slept. The crinkles around his eyes when he suddenly smiled at his own private thoughts. "...yes, I suppose she's nice."

"That's good. That's all that matters, isn't it?"

When Mercedes was done slathering his neck with foundation and contour and whatnot, he inspected her work with his phone camera and sighed.

Ah. There he goes. Lying again.

\---

"Hey, isn't your dad kinda… I dunno, tense?" Linhardt leaned over and tugged on Flayn's sleeve.

She shushed him, keeping her eyes forward, and told him to stand up, an order he politely refused. Sunday morning mass was something he _went to_ , not necessarily participated in.

Still, she couldn't help but feel the air around her father become a little… yeah, tense.

"Isn't this that new music minister guy?"

"Shh."

_In the shadows of the night, I will be your light. Come and rest in me._

"He's got a nice voice."

"Lin, be quiet."

_Do not be afraid, I am with you. I have called you each by name. Come and follow me, I will bring you home._

He stood at this, actually, just to get a better look over the sea of heads. "Oh, holy shit, wait, isn't that--"

" _ **Linhardt!**_ "

It seemed Flayn recognized him too. He could see Seteth go pale and white-knuckled from the corner of his eye. He clutched his missalette.

_I love you, and you are mine._

\---

After the service, Seteth pushed through the milling crowd of churchgoers that greeted one another as if they hadn’t seen each other just last week. People stopped him along the way, wishing him a happy Sunday, and it took him a solid ten minutes of polite, thinly-veiled small talk and pushing for him to finally reach his sister on the other side of the throng. Sometimes he hated Southern small-town polite. He missed the city, where people were eager to head back home to watch football after mass, and no one knew everyone else's business. He felt eyes boring holes into the back of his head with each step he took.

“Rhea--” He unclenched his jaw. He didn’t realize he had been until he hissed her name past his teeth. “Rhea.”

Her eyes met his for a second and she quickly ended her own conversation with a young couple with a smile and a bow. “Seteth, what perfect timing! There is someone I would like you to meet.”

“Rhea, what is the meaning of this?”

“Of what?”

“Making that man a music minister.” His skin prickled at how innocently wide her eyes were.

“Right, as I was saying--”

“Don’t brush me off like that!”

But she was already waving at a figure over her shoulder, and the way he strode up to them in full confidence, guitar case strapped onto his back…. Seteth wanted to turn tail and run. But that would only make people stare harder. Sometimes rumors didn’t fade with the day’s light.

“Seteth, this is Byleth.”

The man before him was definitely Byleth, but… different. His hair was slicked back, and his shirt was pressed and buttoned to the very top. His khaki chinos bore no rips. Seteth searched for the familiar, smug rockstar he knew in his relaxed, left-leaning posture and the hands shoved deep in his pockets. His leather jacket was draped over his arm, and the contrast of that against his Sunday best made Seteth stiff and warm.

He cleared his throat, catching himself staring. “I know who he is,” he said a little more curtly than intended.

Rhea blinked at her brother. “You know each other already?”

“Yes.”

“Intimately,” Byleth added with a grin only Seteth could perceive as cocky. With his tone, he might as well have said _biblically._

He went red in the face, sputtering and blathering like an idiot. “No? No. No! _No!_ ” Each time he said no he sounded more sure of himself.

“I’m a bit confused,” Rhea said, looking between the two of them for answers.

Her brother groaned. “I mean, yes, I know him, just not _intimately_ like he says.” He stopped to squint. Was Byleth… wearing his tie?

“I see.” She didn’t, but she decided to move on. “Well, Seteth, as you’re well aware, our small parish has gone without a music minister for a very long time.”

He wasn’t listening much. His ears were tuned to the world around him-- to the thinning crowd and the conversations that floated through it. Were people still whispering about them? Were they laughing at him? Did they know about the things they did in Byleth’s room above the bar? His peripheral vision was suddenly upped considerably. Were people staring? Watching this freak sideshow? His palms began to sweat at his sides.

“The spring retreat is coming up, and Mr. Eisner here was so gracious he volunteered to help you out with it.”

Eisner? His last name was Eisner? The shame of not knowing even his last name until now sat heavy on his chest. But more importantly... 

_That really was his tie._

Silk and a deep blue, with a diamond pattern hand-stitched with shimmering gold thread. His daughter gave it to him as a birthday slash Christmas gift, some years back, the first semester after they had moved. Every time he knotted it around his neck, he wondered how she managed to save up enough to afford it. He loved it. Cherished it. It was gorgeous.

And it now matched Byleth’s dress shirt.

Oh, if Flayn saw it there wouldn't be any hiding what was going on between the two of them. Seteth didn't care if the whole parish-- if the whole town and university knew of his shame. But Flayn… She was the one person he didn't want to disappoint. Not again.

As if on cue, Flayn and Linhardt skipped right on up to join them at his side. Her eyes caught his-- Byleth’s tie. Seteth felt like his life was forfeit.

"Good morning, Auntie Rhea," she said with a nod. Lin kept his distance but nodded in greeting. It had been a few weeks, but he still seemed sore at her for sentencing him to detention. 

"Who is this?" Flayn asked, but the wariness in her eyes said that she already knew.

"This is our new music minister, Byleth."

"And who is this lovely lady?" Byleth offered the girl an uncharacteristically demure smile, and Seteth could see her defensive facade melt a little around the edges. He could be a little too charming for his own good.

"This is my daughter, Flayn." The tone in his voice was jealous, suddenly, but he'd argue he was simply overprotective, which wasn't untrue.

The man with the guitar cocked a curious brow at him. "I didn't know you had a daughter." Then, to Flayn with an outstretched hand, "It's an absolute pleasure meeting you, darling."

The flare in the way he called her _darling_ was so deliciously _you know_ Lin looked up from his phone, alarm apparent on his sleepy features. It caught him by surprise, and he began to laugh, passing it off as an unfortunate coughing fit into his sleeve.

Flayn took his hand at length, and Byleth shook it.

Seteth felt like he was going to faint, but before he could, Byleth gave a little nod to bow out of the conversation. "I would love to stick around and chat, but I've gotta get going." He looked to Seteth, in his just so way, and he forgot about his tie. "We'll get started on that spring retreat soon, yeah? You have my number, right?"

Seteth's mind went blank save for the time Byleth called him, unexpectedly, that one night. How his shame and the heat of his self-pleasure perfumed the night air, thick and humid and oppressive.

The number remained in his call history, unsaved.

The group watched as Byleth walked off to where he had parked his bike.

"He's a little odd, isn't he," Rhea mused to no one in particular.

"You could say he's a bit queer."

" _ **Linhardt.**_ "

Seteth climbed behind the wheel of his car. Lin and Flayn filed into the back. "Do you two want brunch?"

There was an unenthused "Yes" and a higher pitched call for "Pancakes!" from the backseat.

He stalled as he pulled out of the parking lot, holding Flayn's gaze in the rearview mirror. He worried about the talk he needed to have with her when they got home. Did she really mean what she said that day at the gas station? That she'd support him no matter what? What would he tell her? Could he continue to lie to her? He didn't think his heart could take it. 

But… he really couldn't tell her that he'd just been going out every other night, practically rabid, just for… sex. Sex with a man. A man he didn't love. A man whose last name he didn't know until five minutes ago. 

He couldn't tell her he was obsessed with how Byleth touched him with his mouth. Ran his fingers through his hair and combed out the tangles, nose to nose under cotton sheets. Obsessed with how his hands were in constant motion. Infuriated by the subtly gloating mien he permanently bore, and soothed by his voice. Always soothed by his voice.

"He's nice, isn't he?"

Seteth snapped out of his reverie and decided it was best to just focus on the road. "Hm?"

"I said he's nice, isn't he?"

He was reminded of Mercedes' voice-- how innocently she had said "she." But coming from his daughter this time wasn't a question. It was declarative and sure.

He _is_ nice. 

_He_ is nice.

Seteth glanced at his daughter again in the rearview mirror, and she smiled at him when he caught her eye, as if affirming that she already knew. Knew about the tie. Knew about the bruise underneath his collar. And still she smiled like she was comforting him. Like she was telling him she didn't care. She had her movie nights on Fridays with the boys, and Seteth had an outlet of his own. She wanted to tell him that he seemed so much happier now. Less high-strung.

The knot in his stomach began to unravel. It felt like the weight of the world with his lies and sins melted off his shoulders.

He shakily smiled back at her reflection. "I dunno about that, puff."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my catholic upbringing was useful for once as i remembered 1 (One) Single Church Hymn for this fic.


	5. a feeling that i can't housebreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we learn a few things about byleth, and seteth learns a few things about himself.  
> (alternatively: _is this a date?_ )

“And then F-- no, _F._ ”

“Which one is F again?”

“There’s only five chords in this song. What do you think it is?”

Distracted, Seteth watched them from the living room table as Flayn and Byleth muddled through All-Star by Smash Mouth on the couch. She laughed, fumbling through the song with her delicate, inexperienced fingers working clumsily around the neck of a guitar that was much too big for her. He was patient with her. He gently fixed her fingers after every discordant twang and coaxed her on with a laugh whenever she got discouraged. The sun shone through their tall windows, and the scene was so peaceful-- so idyllic and familial, the dust motes looked like glitter in the light.

He tore his gaze away and went back to his stack of accounting work. He had to get a check out to the campground they were renting for the retreat, plus manage food expenses, random equipment… He had begrudgingly allowed Byleth to come over to help organize the retreat, shamefully beating down the little hopeful spark in him that was conditioned to think seeing Byleth automatically meant sex, and perhaps it was hindsight but he couldn’t help but think he knew it was going to end up like this. Early on he declared he "wasn't cut out for number work" and Flayn so eagerly insisted he teach her to play guitar while he was there so…. Well, Seteth couldn’t say no. 

It was the beginning of April. Spring break was coming up in two weeks. The air was crisp with a freshly broken winter, and the weather teased warmth on their cheeks. The world lied in waiting.

\---

It seemed that Seteth had just fallen asleep when he was awoken by his phone, buzzing in his hand as he gripped it when he collapsed into bed. Ten thirty AM. An unsaved number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Seteth.” How the hell did Byleth manage to sound so cheery? “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Byleth, couldn’t you have asked me last night?” Or four hours ago, when he left the bar?

“I wanted to hear your voice again.”

Seteth was in the middle of taking in a breath when his body refused to exhale. He refused to believe he was blushing at such a cliche line, but his face felt hot against his pillow. He rolled out of the sunlight. When he took too long to respond, a laugh came from the other end, and the sound did no favors for his pounding heart. 

“C’mon, I’ll take you out for lunch.”

“What is it you need?”

“Can you pick me up from the bar?”

“If you needed me to drive you somewhere, you could’ve told me earlier instead of me going home and just coming back,” he griped.

Byleth laughed again. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it worth your while.” His voice was tinged with mischief.

“...give me an hour.”

When he stumbled down the stairs in an old print shirt and jeans, Flayn greeted him from the kitchen island. She was meal prepping for the week. 

“Good morning, papa! Are you going somewhere?”

He felt like he was confronted with a pop-up screen that presented him with two choices, like in one of those video games his daughter loved so much. Tell the truth or tell a lie. He shook his head in dismissal. “Byleth and I are going to have lunch, and then he needs me to help him with an errand.”

“Ooh, is it a date?” She leaned over the counter and grinned at him excitedly.

“No, it is not a date--” He hesitated. Was this a date? No… No, this was Byleth asking for a favor and sloppily making amends in his own Byleth way. Making it worth his while.

“You’d tell me if it was a date, right?”

“Really, it’s not a date, Flayn.”

The girl giggled, resuming her cooking. “Okay, I won’t keep you.”

He rummaged through the fridge and poured himself some orange juice. “Why would you think it’s a date?”

She shrugged. “You seem to like each other plenty, and now you’re going out for lunch together.”

“I’m surprised you think I even tolerate him.”

“Whatever you say, papa.” She rolled her eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean.”

He didn’t know what he wanted it to mean. Perhaps she knew things about himself that he didn’t know yet. Things he refused to face.

\---

“I didn’t know you owned a pair of jeans.” Byleth threw his cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out under his combat boot.

Seteth shut the front door behind him. Dusted off his shirt. “I didn’t know you owned a tie.” Now with his head clear with daylight, he decided to ask. They never did much talking in bed.

“Oh! Right! You left it in my room a couple weeks ago.”

“I want it back,” he said, a little irritated that he didn’t understand that was implied in the first place.

"You'll get it back, eventually." 

He made a mental note to simply take it the next time he slept over. It didn't look like he was going to make progress simply asking for it. "And becoming the music minister?"

"What? I thought you'd be happy I'm becoming more involved with the church."

"No, you did it because you knew it would get under my skin!"

"Did it work?" The young man raised a brow at him, smirked, and Seteth forgot his own name for a moment. Dropped the subject. Byleth peeked into the front window of his car and snorted. "Stick shift?"

Seteth's jaw ticked. It was one thing or another with this boy. "Is that a problem?"

"No, I can drive stick."

"... _so?_ "

"The place we're going to is kinda far, so I figured I'd drive us one way, kind of as a favor since… you're doing me a favor."

The older man sighed, exasperated. "Where are we going?"

"Little hole in the wall." He held out his hand for the keys. "You like barbecue?"

"Not particularly." He clapped the fob into his palm.

"We'll fix that."

"Who taught you how to drive stick?" It felt awkward for him to sit in the passenger seat of his own car. He had never ridden shotgun since… before he got married eighteen years prior.

"My, uh, dad's a mechanic." 

The road stretched far in front of them, endless and empty under the sun, flanked by greening fields. Mountains loomed ahead in the distance, purple and white with melting snow. The radio played an old 80s hits station on low.

"He taught me everything about cars. Learned how to change a tire before I could even read," Byleth chuckled. His long fingers drummed the steering wheel.

Seteth was busy wondering what he was supposed to do with his hands if he weren't driving. They didn't feel right in his lap, twiddling his thumbs. His palms were sweaty, and he had nothing to hide that with. It all seemed so… awkward, but Byleth could find conversation topics as easily as breathing. His voice filled the air between them, talking about growing up in a one-parent household after his mother died giving birth to him. How his father often had to choose between work and spending time with him, and when he was tired of choosing one or the other, he chose both. Bring your kid to work day became every day for him.

"Learned how to take care of all kinds of cars and trucks. I could name the parts of engines better than I could name the fifty states back when I was a kid." He paused, thinking on it, and laughed. "Probably still is the case."

He told the story of how he fell in love with music. The guys at the shop played all kinds of songs as they worked-- oldies, pop, classical. Sinatra, Madonna, Winehouse, Rachmaninoff. He loved all of them. Each genre opened different doors to whole new worlds for him. One Christmas, an old man from the shop handed him down a dusty guitar he dug from the pits of his garage and a dog-eared paperback on how to play it and… the rest was history.

Occasionally, Byleth would stop and hum along to the radio. It was an opening for Seteth to speak but he couldn't bring himself to. His life wasn't nearly as interesting as his. Besides, he liked listening to his voice, smooth and Southern, just as if he were singing to him.

The car careened in front of a small building in the middle of nowhere with a faded sign that read "The Pit Stop." With its decrepit wooden face, saloon style swinging doors, and the mob of motorcycles parked to the side, Seteth wondered if Byleth had lost his mind when he confidently stepped out.

Hands on his hips, he whistled, nonplussed. "This place has gone straight to hell."

"You know this place?"

"Oh, yeah, I used to come here all the time." He didn't seem too sure though as he looked The Pit Stop up and down. "Started doing gigs here."

"You're from here?"

"Born and raised. I left to spread my wings about… five or six years ago. See the world and stuff." 

That explained why Seteth had never seen Byleth before a few months ago.

Byleth looked over his shoulder at him, seemingly reconsidering. "Maybe a barbecue place isn't the best setting for a first date."

Seteth blinked. "Is this a date?"

"Do you want it to be?"

Byleth said it with such an earnest expression, Seteth figured it was a rhetorical question (one to which the answer was obviously _no_ ), so he laughed it off and headed in first.

He agreed with the sentiment that this would have been a horrible place for a first date. It was loud and swarmed with bikers. The speakers blared Sugarland's "Something More" overhead, which was a strange contrast to the sounds of the hockey game playing from a TV on one wall and a brawl breaking out on the opposite. It was definitely… _livelier_ than Mittelfrank's. 

"I take it back-- this place hasn't changed a bit." Byleth laughed as he slid into a booth in the corner. Away from the noise.

Seteth felt out of his element. The clamor of the Pit Stop around him was brutish and rude, cluttered with swears and calls for beer and odd promises involving mothers and dogs. He held onto Byleth's voice like it was the only tie to his sanity. Byleth felt natural. He supplied him with a sense of normalcy in the chaos. He just seemed so at ease, sitting there in his worn leather seat, and he kept good conversation going. Byleth was always Seteth's center of attention. Usually Seteth despised one-sided exchanges, but for once, he was grateful he didn't have to think of things to say. He didn't think he could have, what with the roar of people cheering over the TV. 

He talked, and Seteth listened.

"I went pretty much everywhere on my bike. Saw the entire country after I left," he said. "Did odd jobs here and there to keep food on the hypothetical table, but never stay too long in one place.'

He talked about all of his adventures. Gigs he played-- the best ones, the worst ones, huge tips from drunk assholes, and beers poured furiously over his head. The most beautiful sunset he saw was on the west coast, and the best scoop of ice cream he'd ever had on the east. It was like he threw a handful of numbered darts onto a map and just went wherever and everywhere in between. Turned left if he felt like it. Kept going straight if the weather was right.

Seteth knew his type. The anywhere the wind blows type, and because of this he found his story a little predictable-- plotting his points along as if it were a stereotypical hero's journey tale. Meeting a mentor, the tests and allies and enemies, the inmost cave. When Byleth was robbed and left penniless. When he slept on park benches. When his bike ran out of gas in the middle of butt fuck Egypt and he had to walk it to the nearest Arco 30 miles away. But Seteth held on to every word, chewing his pulled pork sandwich slowly. At some point the noise of the restaurant had melted away.

"I just think…" Byleth drawled, wiping his hands on a wet napkin. He'd cleaned off half a rack of ribs by himself, and Seteth had to admit he was impressed. "I just think if we only have one life, why not make the best of it, you know? I wanna do everything at least once."

Seteth didn't believe in having one life. The Bible promised there was an everlasting one waiting for them after they passed from this world. But even still he couldn't help thinking that even though he still didn't know a single thing about Byleth, he felt as though he'd known him all of his life. 

Or maybe he knew him from the eternity of another.

A disgruntled waitress came back with Seteth's half-eaten sandwich in a box.

"So why did you come back?"

For the first time in the afternoon, Byleth went quiet. He thought about it a moment before he came to a conclusion. 

"Dunno," he said, putting cash on top of the check. "Fate?"

Seteth scoffed. As if there were such a thing.

Byleth laughed. "What, you don't like that answer?"

"I just don't think things just _happen_ , Byleth."

He shrugged and stood, patting off his jeans. Picked up the strawberry sucker from the check. "Maybe. Maybe you're right. But… whatever the reason why, I'm glad I did."

He shot him a look. A small grin. Secretive. Smug.

Seteth’s brow furrowed. That was too cryptic for his own tastes, and it made his stomach flip.

"Why'd you leave in the first place?" For all the heroics and wild happenings he had told, if this were a hero's journey, there had to have been _some_ call to adventure to begin with.

Byleth gradually got quieter, his smile smaller. The crowd around them got louder. He pursed his lips around his candy. "That's… another story."

In the dinky little Honda again, Byleth busied his mouth with the lollipop. He wasn’t talking anymore. He attempted to, sure, but Seteth could see his heart was no longer in it. His eyes just wouldn’t light up. His fingers no longer drummed on the steering wheel to a rhythm only he could hear and instead gripped it tensely.

The radio crackled, and the sound filled the space between them.

Seteth struggled to find something to say. Anything. Tell him about his life. Why he became a philosophy professor. A quirky theology fact. Talk about the orphanage he visited and the kids he read Bible verses to. _Flayn._ He could talk about Flayn for hours. But he couldn’t find anything to cut through the tension in the car, and eventually the only thing he could muster the courage to say was:

“Where are we going?”

Byleth sniffed. “Gonna pick up my truck from the shop.” His tone was clipped.

Seteth just let him drive after that.

It definitely wasn’t as homely as Byleth painted it in his stories. Maybe it was the dust everywhere and the large rusted garage doors. The scrap heap in front and the gutted cars off to the side. But maybe it was just Byleth’s heavy exhale as he slid wordlessly out of the front seat. Seteth could see the confidence simply melt off the other’s shoulders, layer by layer as he trudged in. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was walking off to his own execution.

Seteth followed as he went deeper and deeper into the garage.

“Dad?” He called out, unenthusiastically, craning his neck.

A head of carrot orange hair peaked out from under the hood of an old beamer. “Byleth?”

“Leonie? What’re you doing here?”

“Whaddya mean what am I doing here? What’re _you_ doing here?” She shut the hood and held out her arms wide for a hug, grinning from ear to ear. In her excitement, she completely disregarded Seteth.

Byleth mirrored the expression and squeezed her tight. Clapped her on the back. “What, I’m not allowed home?”

“No, but, after you… y’know….” Leonie trailed off and looked away. It seemed there were things she wanted to say, but in a split second decided they were better off unsaid. “It’s just been a while.”

“Yeah… yeah, I just had to get away for a little bit. But I’m back for the meantime.” Byleth let her go and inspected the engine she was working on, arms akimbo. “Well, what about you? What’re you doing here? What happened to school?”

Seteth hung back in a corner by the door, watching the exchange.

“I can't get this damn thing to turn over. I dunno why.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. He held out a hand to her and she handed him a wrench as if reading his mind. He ducked in. “Anyways, I dunno, By…. Econ was something I was interested in, but it’s not something I wanna, like, _do_ for the rest of my life, y’know?”

“Hm.”

“Jeralt was nice enough to gimme a job here until I figure things out. Like an apprenticeship sorta.” She took back the wrench when he held it over his shoulder and replaced it with another. “Watch, I’ll be as good as you are at this in no time.”

“Doubt it.” He flashed his famous, shit-eating grin at her as he closed the hood.

“No fucking way.”

“Yes.” He nodded and opened the driver side door. The key was on the dashboard and he turned it in the ignition. The engine roared to life.

“No fucking way! What the fuck, I've been slaving over this piece of shit since 8 AM!” Leonie exclaimed. It was well past 3. “No fair, I totally just did the work for you.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“Really!”

Seteth figured he’d let the two continue their reunion by themselves. As they squabbled, he crawled along the perimeter of the garage. Their voices echoed off the tall ceilings. It was the size of a small airplane hangar. He speculated perhaps it was one once before during one war or another, and perhaps once it had been busy, just as Byleth told him, with a crew of a dozen men and women and a line of cars that needed servicing. But now… it was just the three of them and a crappy ‘85 BMW, baking in a building repaired with sheet metal in the afternoon sun.

He clung to the walls, which were lined with shelves crammed full with rusted trays and tins of broken tools, magazines, and long-forgotten knickknacks. The mere thought of even touching the thick, dried over layers of oil and dust and God knows what else that coated everything made him shudder. But past the grime and crumbling stacks of newspaper, he found little pictures, bright yellow where they had been taped together-- worn scraps with crayon drawings, scrawled notes on three-lined penmanship paper, and many… many photographs. Worn polaroids from when instant film was the norm because it was the most accessible, and not just a trendy fun thing that teens used for parties. There were photos of birthdays and trips to the park, a piano recital, the unboxing of a puppy for Christmas….

They were all labeled on the edges with Sharpie, and he found dates as far back as 25 years ago. Some pictures were mottled with splashes of unfortunate accidents from decades past, and others were overrun with mold. From the little gallery, Seteth watched a child grow up in a matter of minutes. As the child aged, the polaroids became more sparse and spread apart-- polaroids became glossy four-by-sixes, and the kid went from a toddling whelp in his training pants to a young adult with his first motorcycle... until eventually the wall ended, disappointedly empty.

Byleth-- Seteth assumed the child with the blank stare in the photos was Byleth-- had changed. It was hard for Seteth to believe that the little rockstar had ever looked so… so void of life. He watched him, kicking Leonie off his person from the front seat of the BMW, playing keepaway and giggling without shame. He wondered what happened. He was obviously well-loved as a child. The question of why he left home in the first place kept nagging at him in the back of his mind.

“Whatever! You’re just too good at this,” the girl groaned with her hands in the air in surrender.

“Consider: you’re just bad at this,” Byleth chuckled. It was obvious he didn’t mean it.

“Whatever!” She repeated herself with a laugh. “What’re you here for? Your bike giving you trouble?”

“No, I, uh….”

Seteth watched the smile fall off his face again. Watched his slim frame tense as he thought about what he was going to say.

“Leonie, where’s pops?”

“Jeralt? He’s out back. You know him. He likes his alone time. He’ll probably be back in a sec.”

Byleth bit his bottom lip, and as he looked for a way out, his eyes caught Seteth’s. The young man looked like he was asking for help. Help with what, Seteth couldn’t tell. Leonie followed his line of sight until she finally realized he had brought a guest.

“Oh! Who’s this?”

“Oh, yeah. This is Seteth.” Byleth gestured him over. “He’s a man of the cloth.”

“I am _not,_ ” he sighed as he approached.

“You’re not?”

“No.” Seteth rolled his eyes as he took Leonie’s outstretched hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”

“Leonie.” She commandeered a firm, greasy handshake. “Pinelli. Nice to meet you. I’m sure my big brother’s given you more than your fair share of trouble?”

It was Byleth’s turn to be indignant. “We are _not_ related.”

“Ah, we might as well be. Considering all that Jeralt’s done for me, he’s pretty much my father too.” She saw movement behind them and stood on the tips of her toes to see over their heads. “Speak of the devil, here he is now. Hey! Hey, Jeralt! Look what the cat dragged in!”

Seteth could see Byleth freeze in his peripheral. He looked like he wanted to run.

As they turned to greet Jeralt, Byleth’s hand shot out and gripped Seteth’s sleeve. He let it.

"Byleth?"

It was rare that Seteth ever had to look up into someone's eyes. Jeralt was taller than he was, and almost twice as wide with muscle. His skin was worn and wrinkled from hard work and pocked with little scars, a hard contrast from Byleth's skinny limbs and dainty face. Seteth would have thought he was intimidating, if he didn't recognize a little bit of himself in his kind brown eyes. They bore the ever-forgiving and ever-loving light of a father looking at his child. It was for this reason as well that he was convinced the two were related.

Byleth's grip tightened on his sleeve. "Hey… dad."

"Didn't know you were back. You never… never called." Jeralt held himself back a couple steps. His expression read a doleful mixture of relief and worry.

_Ah, Byleth the prodigal son,_ Seteth thought to himself. That's what this was. The pictures that ended as abruptly as he had left, the crazy adventures, the reluctance to come back home. It all made sense now.

"I never got around to." Byleth's voice got smaller by the second.

Electricity from the machines around them hummed when the conversation died. The garage was incredibly hot.

"You're here to pick up your truck finally, aren't ya?" Jeralt said at length, and they were all ever so glad for the break in the silence.

"Yeah," his son said with the ghost of a nod.

"I've kept it clean for you all this time. Took it out a couple times, made sure it didn't rust over. I'll bring her out front for ya."

He nodded again. "Thanks."

Jeralt said that, but he stood his ground for a second longer, lingering on something he wanted to say. Seteth saw Byleth in his father's mannerisms. The way he rubbed the back of his neck as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. How he leaned on his left leg ever so slightly.

"I'll, uh…." Leonie looked back and forth between the pair. "Y'know what! I'll, uh… I'll get it. It's the Chevy out back, right? I've always wanted to drive it. Even for a little."

And so Leonie went one way and Jeralt, without another word, went the other, and that was that.

Leonie parked the truck next to Seteth's tiny car. She gave Byleth one more big hug and a meek wave to Seteth before heading back inside, out of the sun.

Byleth ran his fingertips over the spotless white body of his truck, gently, as if greeting an old lover for the first time in years. He wouldn’t look at Seteth for so long, paused at the bed. Seteth turned to leave as well. Leave him be. But Byleth still had his keys.

“Are you alright?” He asked after a minute.

“Hm?” Byleth looked at him and for a flickering instant Seteth saw the same blank stare he had on in his childhood photos.

“Are you alright?” He said again, more clearly.

Byleth combed back his fringe with his fingers and the unreadable expression he wore vanished behind his hand. “Yeah! Yeah, sorry, I just, uh…” He patted his pants down and held out the keys. “Right, here you go.”

Seteth’s fingers closed around the fob, lingering for a second in Byleth’s palm.

“Sorry… that went a little sour at the end there, but… thank you for today,” the younger man said. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you.”

Seteth’s mind went back to the grip on his shirtsleeve, and in that distracted moment, Byleth leaned in, with their hands still touching, and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Byleth said. “At church?”

All Seteth could do was swallow down his blush and nod, watching as the other lifted himself into the truck, and as if on auto-pilot, climb into his own vehicle.

As they went their separate ways in their separate cars, Seteth thought to himself that… in spite of all that was said and done, it was a good date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i didn't think this one was gonna be this long, but i also think the next chapter is gonna be even longer. who knows ! thanks for reading !!


	6. too many memories getting in the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "May the Lord be with you."  
> "And also w--"  
> "And with your spirit."  
>  _"Huh? What--?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcJm1pOswfM) is very important to this chapter.

“Flayn, please don’t jump around the truck like that,” Seteth called from the front door. He was going through his checklist one last time. Just for good measure.

“Oh, she’s fine.” Byleth lifted her by her waist from the bed of his Chevy and set her gently on the ground. “She just helped us finish packing the truck, right?”

“Right!” Flayn fisted the air excitedly.

“I dunno, puff, do we have--”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but how about--”

“ _Yes._ ”

“And--”

“ _ **Yes,**_ papa!” His daughter groaned, hanging off the handle on one of the doors. “Can we go already!”

The old Honda Civic finally gave out on them-- the day just before they left, _of all days_ \-- and so they were using Byleth’s truck to get to the campground for their long-awaited 3-day spring retreat. Seteth was reluctant to spend the three hour drive in such close quarters with Byleth, but he supposed he had no choice. There was no way he was getting his car fixed in time and the Chevy had lots more space for equipment: Seteth's unnecessarily large first aid kit, art supplies, books, foodstuffs-- the usual camping gear, along with their clothes and Byleth's guitar.

Seteth double-- _triple_ checked to make sure the door was locked behind him and hopped into the front seat of the truck, with Byleth behind the wheel and Flayn comfortably seated in the whole empty row by herself in the back.

"Nobody forgot anything, right?"

Two negative calls in response.

"Nobody needs to go to the bathroom?"

"Oh _my **god.**_ " Byleth punched his radio on, turned the volume way up, and backed out of the driveway before Seteth could quadruple check the lock on the door. He didn't know Seteth could be so uptight about things. Sure, he was aggressive (in and out of the bedroom) but did he always have that massive stick up his ass? Was he always such a worrywart?

Though Byleth supposed it was kind of cute.

Their little village of tidy green lawns and clean white fences faded into the distance behind them.

"Here, _puff._ " Byleth handed Flayn the aux cord over his shoulder. He grinned in the rearview mirror when she protested his use of the nickname. "Play something."

"With pleasure!"

Seteth found himself wondering when the two of them had gotten so close. In the past two weeks, Flayn had mastered Smash Mouth by All Star on the guitar. She, Caspar, and Linhardt put on a very moving performance for him in the living room one day, with Byleth as the concertmaster. It really proved to Seteth that Flayn really was still a child on the inside.

Ever since her mother passed away, Flayn had taken on a more… well, he couldn't say solemn disposition. That was too strong of a word, though at times her sadness and grief did indeed tinge the edges of her existence; Seteth could see it sometimes in her eyes in moments of pause or prayer. She would sometimes put down whatever she was doing and gaze wistfully out the window, searching for something she could hardly remember. Flayn had definitely forced herself to become more mature before her time. She took over most of the cooking and the cleaning and other miscellaneous chores during the day while Seteth was at work, on top of her own studies. She was intent on becoming a nurse and needed to get into a good school with a good scholarship. Seteth was, of course, proud of his daughter for all of these reasons, but a part of him wished she would let loose a little more. Be a teenager.

When she was with Byleth, he helped her in that regard, and Seteth was grateful to him for that.

Flayn plugged her phone in and soft horns and bass began to play an intro on the stereo. "Papa, it's our song."

"Your song?" Byleth grinned, tapping the wheel along with the rhythm of the high hats. 

It was Seteth and his late wife's song, actually. Their wedding song. Something that brought back sweet memories that dated as far back as when they were high school sweethearts. As with all good parents, whatever was theirs was also their children's, so the song belonged to all three of them, and whenever it played, the house was filled with laughter and dance.

_You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you._

Byleth sang along beneath his breath, watching Flayn sway in the backseat, and Seteth had to force himself to stop smiling when the music minister caught him and goaded him on to sing along.

"C'mon, holy man. You know the words."

Seteth huffed, tied his hair at the nape of his neck, and looked out his window. This wasn't _Byleth's_ song. This was _their_ song. But… God, he loved his voice. He always had. But he would never let Byleth know.

And so he let him sing it.

"Alright, fine. Flayn, you sing!"

"Me?"

"Is there any other Flayn in the car?"

"I dunno…"

"C'mon, I'll back you up! _I thank God I'm alive. You're just too good to be true._ " Byleth sang along, improvising a harmony as he went.

" _Can't take my eyes off of you~_ " Flayn crooned softly.

"There you go! What an angel!"

Seteth watched him from the corner of his eye, lauding praise onto his daughter with utmost sincerity. She began to open up to the song, her voice rising to meet his. Her voice shook slightly, as inexperienced and lovely as spring buds in the breeze. " _Pardon the way that I stare. There's nothing else to compare._ "

Flayn leaned forward, shaking her father by the elbow in a prodding manner, and he gently placed a hand over hers to give it a reassuring squeeze. He was enjoying the show, but he wouldn't sing along. 

_The sight of you makes me weak. There are no words left to speak, but if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real._

The two of them sounded lovely enough by themselves. Seteth convinced himself they didn't need him ruining the moment.

Byleth joined in on the nudging, grinning as the music mounted into the bridge. He rolled down the windows and turned up the volume.

" _Baa da! Baa da! Baa da ba pa ba!_ " Flayn giggled as she mimicked the fanfare building into the refrain, growing louder and sillier and rowdier in her seat. Byleth joined in, drumming carelessly against the steering wheel.

The wind threw their hair around their faces, warm with the caress of sunlight. It pushed Seteth back into his seat like an unknown force that stole his breath right out from his lungs. He felt powerless, and he couldn't have stopped himself from smiling if he tried.

" _Baa da, baa da, **BAAAA--**_ " Byleth and Flayn yelled at the top of their lungs and exploded into the chorus. " _I love you, baby! And if it's quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm a lonely night! I love you, baby! Trust in me when I say!_ "

Their harmonizing voices were tossed to the wind, lost to the road behind them as the Chevy sped down the freeway, along rolling fields of grass and past quieter, less happy cars.

Flayn collapsed into a fit of giggles, unable to sing past her laughter.

" _Oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray--_ hey! Don't leave me hanging!" Byleth looked for her in the rearview mirror.

"Keep going! Keep going!" She giggled, taking out her phone to record.

So Byleth took hold of Seteth's arm with one hand and pulled him as close as he could over the center console.

"Byleth--!"

" _And let me love you, baby. Let me love you~_ "

"Byleth, let go--"

He had him by the hand now, fingers threaded together. 

"Flayn, don't record this!"

But it was too late. She already had her phone up, and Byleth was singing to him-- singing for him, putting his own rock twist on the classic. Rough, sultry, low in his chest.

" _You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off of you._ "

"Don't take your eyes off the _road!_ " He attempted to be mad. Tried to be stern but Byleth gave his shoulders a little shimmy as his eyes flickered back and forth between the road and Seteth was choking back a chuckle.

" _You'd be like Heaven to touch. I wanna hold you so much--_ yes, I do, Seteth!"

Flayn squealed with laughter.

Seteth froze, afraid of the next lyric-- _at long last love has arrived_ \-- but Byleth stopped singing to laugh. Seteth didn’t know why he was terrified of hearing it, and his hand trembled in the other's grasp. When Seteth didn't hear the line from Byleth's lips, guiltily sweet in his mind, relief washed over him in a wave so powerful he couldn’t help but to relax-- to put his guard down and laugh along.

“ _You’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you~!_ C’mon, Flayn, take us home!”

The girl patted her hand on her lap in rhythm with the song as she sang along to the horns again, bouncing up and down in her seat. “ _Baa da! Baa da! Ba da ba pa da--_ papa! Sing! You love this song!”

Byleth joined in on the mouth trumpeting, watching Seteth expectantly. He was hiding his grin behind the hand that wasn’t being held. Byleth gave his fingers a squeeze, and Seteth’s whole body shook with butterflies and excitement.

_I love you, baby!  
And if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely nights!_

The entire truck erupted into the refrain-- Byleth, Flayn, and Seteth, singing along to _their_ song.

_I love you, baby. Trust in me when I say…_

Byleth whooped, shaking their intertwined hands between them, and Seteth gripped it tightly.

_Oh, pretty baby. Don’t bring me down, I pray, oh, pretty baby…._

\---

“This… is _not_ camping.”

Byleth stood outside his truck, hands on his hips as he looked up at the lodge before him. It wasn’t even a rustic looking cabin or anything. In fact, he likened it to a Four Seasons-- a Motel 8 at worst. Two tall floors of clean white walls poking around the tips of trees, a sanded porch with cushioned lounge chairs. _Electricity,_ which probably meant hot water too.

The only thing that really said this was, in fact, a campground was the big wooden arch reading "Welcome to Camp St. Seiros!" that they passed through on the way there.

Seteth poked his head out. Flayn had fallen asleep in the back of the truck, and he was attempting to wake her up. “I don’t know what you expected, Byleth.”

He didn’t know what he expected either, but it definitely wasn’t _this._

Try as Seteth might to make things fun, it was hard enough to bring teenagers out for a church retreat during their spring break, even if it was only for three days. Being outside in the woods was… pushing it.

“We’re staying… here?”

“No, this is the dining hall and common area, where we’ll be conducting most of our activities and prayer.” He unbuckled his daughter and hefted her over his shoulder. She was still napping. “Cabins are over that hill there.”

“Cabins? _**Plural?**_ ”

“Separated by gender.”

“Oh… my god?” This was probably the most Catholic thing Byleth had ever seen.

“You were supposed to help me organize this whole thing.”

He was _supposed_ to but he didn’t do much except for taking care of errand runs to Costco and picking meditation music for the weekend. But, hey, teaching Flayn her meme music seemed like a far better use of his time, so he didn't regret a thing. 

"You've never been to this kind of thing before?"

Byleth shot him a look.

"Right. Of course not." Seteth rolled his eyes. "Let's just get set up before the bus arrives."

"Right…" Byleth began unloading his truck. Guess he'd just have to play it by ear.

\---

“Alright, so a few housekeeping things before our opening reading.” Byleth looked up from his packet and over the sea of teenaged heads that sat before him in a semicircle. 

The crowd was split about fifty fifty-- half snot-nosed assholes who were forced to go to the retreat and half people who were actually real jazzed about a whole weekend of Bible study. They each had in their hands a rather hefty packet of a dozen or so papers that detailed their itinerary as well as the readings they were going to study.

The hall they were in was about the size of a high school gymnasium, with the same wooden floors and high ceilings, cleanly halved into a common and dining area. An unlit fireplace hogged the wall opposite the kitchen. An old, untuned upright baby grand piano sat in the corner, collecting dust, and Byleth resisted the itch to play it.

He was impressed by all the ways Seteth came up to keep the kids entertained. He was particularly interested in the hour and a half slots allotted to "free time" after lunch. Apparently this place had a lake for swimming in and an archery range. It would prove to be an… _interesting_ weekend if they were allowed to use the facilities.

“Uhm, we are in the woods," he continued to say, reading off his list. "Please respect the nature around us as, uh, God would’ve wanted…. So, don’t be a dweeb, alright? Pick up your garbage, don’t piss on--”

Seteth cleared his throat.

“I mean, please don’t urinate on the trees. Stuff like that. Please don’t go off on your own and please always let me or Seteth or your group leaders know where you’re going. Group leaders, raise your hands in case people already forgot. Flayn, Lin, Mercie, Ashe, Marianne and Caspar....” He sighed, pointing at each of them as he went. “Don’t… feed the coyotes..? Why is this in bold--”

The group leaders choked back laughter.

“I thought it was a _dog,_ ” Caspar hissed.

“Yeah, and that raccoon we saw on the way here was definitely a cat--”

_“Leave me alone.”_

“Right, don’t feed the raccoons either, Cass.” Byleth shot him finger guns before going back to the list. “Please act with kindness and consideration in all that you do. Right, you all know ‘What Would Jesus Do’, and, uh… all that. Any questions or comments? I think those are pretty straight forward.”

A brat in the middle back raised their hand.

“Yes, you.”

“What _would_ Jesus do?”

“Uh.” 

It was clear Byleth was out of his element here. Usually he did so well as the center of attention, but all that was going through his head was that one comedian’s bit where he was not aware that they changed a lot of the dialogue during mass and made an absolute ass out of himself saying _“And also with you”_ instead of _“And with your spirit.”_ That’s exactly what he felt like, but...

He supposed it was his own fault for trying to get closer to Seteth during _Jesus camp_ of all things.

“Seteth, you wanna… answer this one?”

“Right, I think this is a perfect transition point. In Mark chapter 12, verses 30 and 31, we are taught two things: that we are to love God with our entire being and… we are to love one another as we love ourselves. These two commandments are at the core of who we are as followers of the faith. During this retreat, we want you to think that with everything you do, is this an action of love? Am I properly loving the people around me? Am I loving myself?"

Byleth stood off to the side, hands shoved into his pockets. He watched Seteth. Listened. Hung onto his words. He was never a big fan of the Bible, but he loved the way it sounded when Seteth talked about it. He was so confident in his faith. So at ease talking about love… it made his insides squeeze.

"This year's retreat theme is precisely that. Love. We are going to learn about love-- the different forms it takes and how it is spread. What it means to love in the way that our God taught us-- how to love as He loves us. Because _that_ is what Jesus would do. He would act with love in everything he did.”

Seteth said the word "love" twelve times. Byleth counted. 

It tickled him, watching his tongue flick off his teeth, roll back into his mouth just in time for his teeth to close against his lip for the V. Fluid. Easy. Love. Love… _Love._

“With that, Linhardt, would you like to start us off with our opening reading?” 

Linhardt visibly recoiled and sank lower into his seat. It was clear he was part of the half that weren't there out of their own volition. 

“I-I got it.” The group leader named Ashe stood with his packet of papers in his hands, and Linhardt hid his face in his, grateful for the cover. “Uhm… A reading from the first letter of Paul to the Corinthians. Love is patient, love is kind.”

Byleth was sure he had heard this whole spiel somewhere before, at a wedding or in a Lifetime movie or something. He had never fully listened to it before now. He could sympathize with Linhardt. Church wasn’t really _his thing._ But suddenly he was interested in this verse.

“It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Ashe.” Seteth stood tall with his hands behind his back. “For now, I’d like you all to meet with your group leaders for ice breakers.” 

He looked at Byleth, cocking his head. “Why are you looking at me like that? Did I say something wrong?”

The knot in his stomach grew larger. Warmer. Tighter.

Fortunately for both of them, the rest of the day went without incident. The kids kept them occupied and often far apart from each other. The day was full of activities-- group games, arts and crafts, songs and a lot more Bible reading than Byleth had signed up for. While Seteth was busy, Byleth was busy. He never knew just how hard it was to keep kids interested and entertained, and at the end of the day, after poring over John 4:8 and Ephesians 4:2, writing prayers and singing songs, John 15:12 and Proverbs 3:3, cooking dinner and getting all the kids to settle down… After all this, it was an understatement to say that Byleth was exhausted, and this was only day one of three.

"Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"Like you've got a funny idea."

"I don't have any funny ideas. In fact, I don't have a single idea. I never think. Ever." Byleth chuckled, sitting on his bed on the other side of the room. He made a show out of definitely _not_ watching Seteth undress.

The campers got their own cabins down the hill, and… the two of them had their own little hut at the top. It was better than Byleth's room above the bar, with books lining the wall, a small kitchenette and a private bathroom… two separate beds. This whole… Catholic retreat thing was still way over his head. They did this _every_ year?

In any case, even if he wanted to have a funny idea, he wasn't sure he could have, what with the portrait of the Holy Mother and Child hanging on the wall, watching them.

"Today was fun," Byleth offered to fill the silence.

"For you, perhaps." Seteth huffed, slipping into a pair of grey joggers.

Byleth was definitely not staring at his ass.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you mad?"

Between the two of them, it was clear the campers had a favorite. To kids, Seteth was stuffy and uptight and no fun whatsoever. He stuck to their schedule to the minute. Didn't allow people to talk over him. Byleth, on the other hand, was fun. He had a guitar and a funky sense of humor and an easier-going countenance that made it possible to get away with things-- kids could half-ass reflection questions and use their phones in his vicinity. But above all else, his charm made the kids that didn't want to be there… well, still not want to be there but at least a _little less._

And this only radicalized those negative feelings in the students with Seteth. They became vocal about how much they wished they were with Byleth instead. As a result, it made Seteth's job a little more difficult as jealousy mounted in his little class. Not even Flayn would sit near him for dinner. They all flocked to Byleth, huddling around to hear him tell stories and vaguely dirty jokes.

"No, I am not mad," Seteth huffed, pulling a t-shirt over his head.

"Do the kids usually like you?"

A telling pause. "...they like me plenty."

Byleth smiled quietly and hoisted himself to his feet to peruse the wall of books. Nothing was particularly of interest-- only different versions of the Bible and religious self-help books, but he took one of the former off the shelf and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Saw something earlier. Thought it would be cool to check out."

"It's late. We have to be up by 7 sharp tomorrow morning."

"Sure, sure. You got it. Don't wait up for me."

Seteth did, in fact, wait up for him.

He lied in the dark, wondering what Byleth could possibly be up to. What if he were hurt? What if he decided to hop back into his truck and go home? He couldn’t fault him for that. Unlike the other campers, Byleth had free reign. He could do pretty much anything he wanted, and that included leaving. Seteth felt like a fool for thinking Byleth could have been there because he wanted to.

“I will not chase after him. I will not wait up for him. I will not chase after him.”

He attempted to lull himself to sleep with that mantra.

\---

At the edge of the campground there was an amphitheatre, a clearing in the woods in a deep crater that plunged into the earth, and it was used for outdoor Mass. Rows of logs lined the amphitheatre in a semicircle, serving as pews. Deep down the crater, at the very bottom, stood an altar, littered with pine needles and dirt, unused and solemn. The branches of trees served as a ciborium from above. Beyond the crucifix behind the altar awaited a cliff, plummeting far down into the green forest below.

That was where Seteth found Byleth.

He sat, under the moonlight, on the steps before the altar and cross. He was reading by the light of a flashlight. 

“Byleth?” Seteth slowly approached, walking carefully on the downhill slope. It didn’t seem he heard him, so he called out again. “Byleth.”

It wasn’t until Seteth’s shadow fell on the page he was perusing that he looked up. He blinked, his eyes round with curiosity, and pulled an earbud out of his ear. Paused the music on his phone. “Seteth? I told you not to wait up for me.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

A simper and a shrug. “No?”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“Okay, and?”

A muscle in Seteth’s jaw ticked at his nonchalance. “What are you doing?”

“Studying.” He held up the book he was reading, and shone a light on the cover for Seteth to see before diving right back to his studies. Before he resumed his reading, he wondered out loud, “Why did you pick that passage, earlier?”

“Which passage?”

“The one that Ashe read at the very beginning. It’s so… It’s so _cliché._ ”

Seteth could never get used to how Byleth could simply skip from one topic to another without batting an eye. He sat beside him, holding his bare arms to shield them from the cold.

“Clichés are popular for a reason, did you consider that?”

“I like the verses before and after it, y’know?” Byleth flipped a few pages to one he had dog-eared and began to recite aloud: “If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.”

Seteth listened to him speak. He had read Corinthians 13 a million times, but none of those times had ever been as lovely as when Byleth read it. His voice was sure and clear, smoothly emphasizing crucial words by slowing to enunciate and pausing in reflection after every sentence. Just like when he was singing.

Byleth closed the Bible and set it on his lap. He looked up at the moon and stars. “Doesn’t that just make you think?”

“About what?”

“I dunno. Like… the whole ‘love is patient and kind’ thing is… a given, really. Even though anyone can say that they perceive and give love in different ways, that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? But… to say that someone is _nothing_ without love…” 

While Byleth stared at the stars, Seteth stared at him. The moon shone down on him like stage lights, hitting his nose and cheeks in that perfect way he loved so much.

“Which do you think is better, Seteth?” He glanced at him. Caught him staring and grinned with his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Which is better?”

“To be loved or to give love?” He asked. “It’s a two-way street. Would you be nothing if you weren’t loved, or would you be nothing if you did not love?”

Perhaps it was because he was tired, but Seteth could only think of the day he'd had. How his own daughter wouldn't even eat dinner with him, not even if he asked. That certainly made him feel like nothing. He yawned and replied, "If you aren't loved."

Byleth exhaled through his nose-- a short, mirthless laugh. "I figured you'd say that."

"Hm?"

"I'm sure your life is full of people who love you, Seteth. That's why you said that."

"I don't understand."

"I'd hoped you wouldn't."

Seteth remembered his empty stare from two weeks ago. The hot garage. The sad child in the photographs he saw. He wanted to know more about him. He wanted to understand.

But Byleth said nothing enlightening. He simply kept his gaze affixed on Seteth. His eyes burned through him expectantly.

"What?" He asked when he finally grew uncomfortably hot under his stare.

"I can see your nipples poking through your shirt."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Byleth cracked a laugh this time, a real laugh, dodging as Seteth attempted to jab his arm with his fist. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the other's shoulders, stopping his assault dead in its tracks.

"Sorry, sorry. I know it's cold. Let's head inside?"

Seteth grumbled and pulled the lapels of the jacket around his face. It was small on him, but it was warm and it smelled like Byleth, so he didn’t mind.

Byleth took one last glance at the stars before pulling himself to his feet. He extended a hand to Seteth and helped him to stand. He wouldn't let go, even after they began walking back up to their cabin. Seteth's hand shook in his hold, but he didn't let go either.

"Love never fails," Byleth said, not particularly to anyone, looking straight ahead. "But where there are prophecies, they will cease. Where there are tongues, they will be stilled…. Hm." He paused in thought. "Oh. Where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears."

"You memorized that?"

"I'm a lot smarter than I appear, Seteth." He gave him a faux wounded look.

"I never said you weren't." Though it was apparent he had his doubts sometimes.

"I know."

It seemed he knew everything.

Byleth started to whistle the horn part in "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You," swinging their hands between them to the beat, and his music echoed off the trees around them. The sound surrounded them in a warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these mfers keep getting longer and longer and they're gonna keep getting longer. thank u for waiting for this one ! i was raised catholic and ive been to at least 4 of these kinds of retreats and lemme tell you: yes. it's exactly like this. and it's nuts.
> 
> tysm to [ray](twitter.com/rachelmds) for reading this one over and giving me such helpful feedback ily !!
> 
> also ! if you've played the dlc i wrote [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22814449) little tidbit and if you like dimilix angst i wrote [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22984837) too :) see y'all next tuesday


	7. sit around and kill time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth remembers why he's not Catholic.
> 
> (cw : homophobia)

“There you go, Seteth. That’s it. Just like that….”

Byleth’s voice sent shivers down his spine.

Seteth shifted his weight from one knee to the other and settled with his chest against the seat of the chair, leaning into Byleth’s musk-- the spicy scent of his body wash. His heat. His hands rested atop the other’s thighs, trembling quietly. He opened his mouth. Gasped for air. Swallowed. Licked his lips.

“Slow down,” he said, and he listened. 

Gentle fingers combed through his hair, pushing him just slightly back. They caressed his cheeks and face, and Seteth closed his eyes as they guided him closer again. The tip of Byleth's cock pressed against his lips, and Seteth was suddenly conscious of just how hot the inside of his mouth felt as he took him in, slowly. Inch by inch, he worked up the courage to open his eyes again and look up into the face of the man he was pleasuring.

Byleth was beautiful. Seteth had always thought so. With his long lashes and sweet nose. His delicate jaw and plush, pink lips, now parting with a sweet sigh as Seteth gently bobbed his head against his length. His eyes with his long lashes fluttered shut for a moment, before opening again, only partly. He was watching Seteth blow him with a smoldering gaze, scrutinizing his work with that cocky, full-of-himself expression he always had on his face when they fucked. He ran his fingers through Seteth’s hair, scratching tenderly against his scalp.

Seteth’s nails dug into Byleth’s thighs, slipping into the little rips in his jeans there, and the musician hissed. Took his hands into his and pressed kisses into his knuckles.

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” He murmured against his skin, and through his nose Seteth gasped around his cock, electrified by his smooth tone. It sounded so natural coming off his lips. _So right._

“You like that?”

He liked it so goddamn much, his skin pricked hotly with embarrassment; though he supposed there wasn’t much room for such sentiments, considering what he’d already laid bare for Byleth. Considering what they had done and what they were doing.

Seteth remembered to breathe and pulled back, giving his dick little licks on the head as he inhaled through his nose. Smelled the musk of their sex in the air between them. Tasted the acrid notes of precum leaking through. It made him drool.

“You’re doing so good, Seteth,” Byleth purred. He had released his hands to caress his face and hair once more. He brushed hair from his forehead and tucked it behind his ears. “What a picture you make, with your pretty little lips around my cock….”

Seteth hated just how much he loved Byleth’s voice. He wasn’t even touching himself, but he could feel the familiar heat of an orgasm building sweetly in his stomach. His own cock ached for release. But he wanted to focus on the praise he was receiving. Focus on Byleth’s words.

But the more he focused, the more every detail slipped from his mind. The more he held tight to his skin, the more he drifted away.

Seteth jerked awake. His phone buzzed incessantly beside him with the twinkling of his alarm, and he groaned.

“Seven sharp, right?” Byleth yawned from his side of the room. From his bed. Fully clothed.

Seteth looked at him, bewildered. His heart was pounding out of his chest. He was… dreaming?

Byleth grinned with mischief, in his subtly omniscient way. “...Wet dream?”

“N-no.”

“We haven’t had sex in weeks,” he pointed out plainly. His tone said he couldn’t blame him, and he leaned forward from his seat on the edge of his mattress.

Weeks? Seteth counted in his head to wake himself up… About 3 weeks. A whole month. 

Byleth stood and stretched. His bed was made already, as if he had been out of it for a while, and Seteth wondered to himself, vaguely, if he ever slept. He pulled his sheets over his head and closed his eyes for a second, wishing the drowsiness would leave him. He focused on the sounds around him. The rustle of trees outside in the breeze and the birds in their branches. Byleth’s footsteps. He was moving things around, probably getting dressed for breakfast.

He willed himself to stay awake, tempting himself with the thought of coffee, and when he opened his eyes again, Byleth was climbing under the covers with him. He was not dressed.

“What are you--” He sputtered as Byleth’s body laid itself across his own, and his hands traveled low. He couldn’t manage to gripe any further when he gave him a gentle squeeze down there and a peck on the lips. In fact he moaned his consent.

Byleth chuckled, teasing him about his morning wood with his mouth on his neck, sucking little marks along his pulse. Seteth couldn’t find it in himself to say no to the sex this was leading to, but he definitely said no to the hickeys. Byleth gave him another kiss in acknowledgement. It tasted like morning breath. It tasted like Heaven.

They had had sex many, many times before. This time was… different. There was no alcohol involved. No sneaking around-- no need to rush back to an afternoon lecture or go back to waiting tables. No clatter of plates and glasses or muffled rock from down below, only the sounds of the birds in the trees outside.

They took their sweet, sweet time, kissing and touching. Quiet. Lazy and tired. 

They moved together in a rhythm as slow as molasses, groaning under their breaths as they touched and ground against each other. Byleth ran his palms down the sides of Seteth’s face, along his neck and chest, stopping to clutch his sides, bringing his hips against his. Pushing, pulling. Pushing, pulling. He controlled the tempo, and Seteth let him.

Byleth coerced him into a kiss, dragging his tongue against Seteth’s teeth, and Seteth opened his mouth, welcoming him. His tongue probed him in such a way that had him panting and writhing beneath his weight. Byleth leaned into their kiss, and his body followed a graceful curve right into the place where their crotches met, grinding against each other still clothed. Uncomfortably so. 

Usually, Byleth would make a cocky remark at this point, but his tongue (and his piercing) felt so at home against the bottoms of Seteth’s top molars, he couldn’t think to use it for anything else. Seteth thought about the dream he’d had. Thought about Byleth’s voice and the gentle words he used on him, and he moaned around his wicked tongue. He pressed the flats of his feet against the mattress and arched his back up, asking for him like that.

The two of them pulled away, breathlessly, eyes blown wide open and locked on one another, and without words they both moved to slip out of their pants and boxers. 

They had barely pushed their clothes past their knees when Byleth took their cocks into one hand, and the friction left them gasping as they bucked against each other. It reminded Seteth of the first time they had ever done it-- all those months ago, above the bar. Shit-faced and confused but desperate. So desperate. He hated the foreplay.

But this time….

He wanted to be held and fucked gently like this, in the cool morning light, tangled underneath these sheets. He wanted to be kissed and caressed and touched and held down. Three weeks felt like an eternity. He wondered how he ever got by without sex with Byleth. 

Byleth, who was his _drug._

“Byleth,” he moaned with both his arms around his neck. _“Byleth.”_

He made a disinterested noise from the back of his throat, devoted to holding himself up over Seteth, who watched as his lashes fluttered, and his eyes eventually snapped shut. He straightened out just a little. Peeled the tangle of joggers and Calvin Kleins fully off Seteth's legs and situated himself between them, spreading them so he could be slotted as closely as he could be against him. His thighs rested beneath Seteth’s and Seteth’s sock-clad heels nuzzled against the backs of his calves. Byleth pushed the other’s shirt up off his stomach.

Something deep within Seteth ached to be touched. The position they were in had his ass spread, against the mattress. He’d often wondered what it was like to be touched there-- to be _fucked_ there, just as he fucked Byleth countless times before-- and now the wonder had grown into an ache. Curiosity was really killing the cat here. But he swallowed the thought. Blamed it on the dream he dreamt and contented himself with simply imagining it, thinking about what it would be like to fucked at this languid pace. He pictured Byleth’s cock _in_ him, and not just in his hand, sliding in and out, slick with lube. The mental image had him choking back a cry.

But he didn’t have the courage to ask for it (nor the time, probably) so he only pulled Byleth closer again for more of his stupid morning breath kisses, and they remained like that until they both came. Moaning into each other’s mouths, rutting against each other in sloppy rhythm. With a sharp cry, Seteth spilled onto his chest, and Byleth soon after.

Byleth was the first to emerge from their little cocoon of sheets. The fresh air was cool on his skin, and he sat back on his feet, watching Seteth catch his breath. He reached over. Brushed hair off his forehead and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose before going back to sitting on his feet.

“I don’t… I don’t suppose there are washing machines in this place, huh?” That would be the straw that broke this agnostic camel’s back. 

“Fuck,” Seteth mumbled under his breath with his head turned to the side, and Byleth could only chuckle. There were… stains settling into his sleepwear. “No.”

“Oh, good.” There was some hope for this place yet.

“God, this isn’t gonna wash out.” Seteth had that fucked-out look on his face. He looked at everything like they were distant and hazy, squinting slightly. His skin was flushed and glowy and soft and Byleth loved it.

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?”

Green eyes snapped open at that. “What?” Seteth rasped.

“I said you’re a bootyhole, you fucking rat.” He gave him a roll of his eyes and a pat on his bare thigh as he climbed off the bed to grab a tissue. “C’mon. We’re probably real late.”

Seteth couldn’t bear to check the time on his phone. Hopefully the group leaders were aware of their schedule and keeping it much better than they were.

Byleth cleaned his stomach off with a napkin and kissed him again on the nose… and again on the cheek and again on the other cheek. One more time on the lips, and Seteth turned his head away with a small laugh. He stopped. Something caught his eye.

“Did you take the painting of _Mother Mary_ off the wall?”

"I didn't want her watching us."

Seteth chuckled as he slid out of bed.

\---

The two of them just barely made the tail-end of breakfast. Mercedes and Ashe were already cleaning up the kitchen, and there weren't many leftovers for them to take.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Seteth kissed his daughter on the forehead in greeting, making himself at home at her and her friends' table. "I'm sorry, we were busy… doing things." He adjusted his tie as he spoke.

Yup. _Things._

Byleth slid into the seat next to him, slipping a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. There was a dash of milk and slices of fresh banana in it. "Hhhere you go."

"Oh, thank you. Just the way I like it."

Linhardt looked between the two of them and leaned into Caspar's ear. "Are you seeing this shit?"

"I am, in fact, seeing this shit."

Seteth went on without hearing their whispering. "I trust morning prayer went smoothly? I’m sad to have missed it."

"Oh, yes!" Flayn pushed a leftover apple slice around her bowl with her spoon. "Linhardt did splendidly. Didn't you, Lin?" She smiled sweetly at him.

"Why, yes, I did--"

"Hey, no, I did morning prayer," Caspar began to protest. 

Morning prayer was something Flayn came up with a few retreats back. It was a strange mixture of prayer and energetic stretching choreography, which was definitely more up Caspar’s alley and not Linhardt’s, but Lin was more than happy to take the credit for it if it meant he could look like he was participating. 

At least if they were arguing about that, they weren't drawing attention to her father and his… lover? Was Byleth his lover now? She inwardly gasped at the thought. _Boyfriend?! Were they boyfriends?_

She couldn't deny she adored that idea.

She loved Byleth herself. He could always make her laugh, and he was incredibly kind. He brought her little gifts every time he came over-- flowers, candy, little rocks that reminded him of her. He could make dinner conversations interesting, and Flayn had always thought meals were best enjoyed when it was in the company of two or more people. He just lit up every room he was in without even trying. He made her happy.

And, more importantly, he made Seteth happy.

In any case, Byleth was as good as family, and she would not have neither of her best friends poking fun at him. (Or her father either, just as an afterthought.)

It was Sunday, which meant three things: Mass, followed by penance, and something on the itinerary that was marked _Serendipity._ Byleth didn’t know what it was, but it took up a sizable slot of time in the late afternoon and there was no script written for it in the packet. He couldn’t risk Seteth looking at him like he was stupid, so he didn’t ask.

So with breakfast squared away, they all trudged to the amphitheatre. 

Before Byleth had become a music minister for their parish, it had been… a while since he had last participated in Mass. He held a few grudges against the church, sure; he figured a lot of it could use a little fixing. He just never really understood _why_ they had to take a solid hour out of their Sundays to dress up and sit and kneel and sing in tedious order. But this?

The trees towered above the amphitheatre, and the wind sang a crisp tune through their branches. In the light, the congregation was bathed in the kind greens of the forest, soft in the shade. He didn't have to wear a tie; the kids around him were in t-shirts and shorts and sneakers. Beneath the trees, he could focus. He could feel the earth beneath his feet and taste the air that sustained him as it cycled in and out of his body. When he sang during the procession of the gifts, the wind carried his voice away. Where? He didn't know. His song floated through the gaps between the trees, and soared out of the crater. Perhaps it would reach the top of the mountains to greet the sky, or settle into the bottom of the valley below, flowing like a creek or rolling along like stones. But his knowing would not change anything. He cast that fate to the breeze with his song.

_And He will raise you up on eagle's wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you--  
Hold you in the palm of His hand._

Byleth didn't think he could come to know God. He couldn't understand a lot of the things the Bible discussed, like the gift of awe or how faith the size of a mustard seed could move mountains. But knowing that this _Almighty_ and omnipotent, ever-forgiving being was something that could make Seteth _glow_ the way he did as he watched from his log pew in the congregation… It was humbling. It was magnificent. It was _close_ to what Seteth would describe as a spiritual awakening. Not quite, but he could get there if he tried. 

The priest that drove up to preside was an ornery fart named Tomas. His receding hairline gave him a big forehead and he had oddly buggy eyes. Byleth knew better than to judge people by their appearance, though, and after that incredible outdoor mass experience, he was going into things with an open mind.

That was... until they went in for penance.

There was only one Tomas and so many campers, so they all lined up in the main hall, working on another art project in meditative silence until they were called, one by one. It had been a while since Byleth had gone to confession. When he first partook in the sacrament, all those years ago as part of his preparation for First Holy Communion, his teachers had given it such a fancy name. Reconciliation. For what? You went in, you said some embarrassing shit like “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned” and talked about how you didn’t play fair at four square at lunch that day. They couldn’t even say the word. They were in second grade. 

But as an adult… Byleth wondered what sorts of sins he could confess to. Not really believing in a god didn’t leave much of a reason to be hyper aware of his wrongdoings and shortcomings. Sure, he was baptized and even confirmed, but only because Jeralt thought he just _had_ to be. It was just the way things were in their little town. 

When it was finally his turn to take his seat across from Tomas, he still had not come up with a single thing to say. 

“I’ll be honest with you, Father. I, uh… I really don’t know why I’m here.” He sat, leaning forward a bit, with his hands clasped loosely in his lap.

“And why do you think that would be?” Tomas placed a gentle, understanding hand atop Byleth’s arm. 

“I don’t really believe in--” Byleth nodded over his shoulder in a vague gesture-- “all this. I was never really… a big fan of religion for my own reasons. Wasn’t really raised to be one either.”

They were both quiet for a moment. The rustle of leaves filled the silence between them as Tomas muddled through what he was going to say. What Byleth confessed wasn’t so much a sin as it was… a fact.

“God is love,” he said, quoting a verse that their camp had pored over just the day before: John 4:7. The old man gave his sleeve a reassuring squeeze. “And people who share that wonderful love are good people. If you do not have God in your life, you do not have love, and that does not make you a good person.”

Byleth felt his skin burn beneath the priest’s touch. He remembered why he wasn’t religious.

There were good people that were religious-- like Seteth and Flayn. They were probably the best people he knew, in fact. There were good people that weren’t. Some people didn’t need a reason like _God_ to be a nice person. There were also _asshats_ that toted their faith around like the goddamn Medal of Honor like Tomas. 

Byleth remembered the conversation he had had with Seteth, just the night before. How he himself was on that side of the argument. 

_If you don’t give love, you are nothing._

But he didn’t think of it like this. He didn’t think it could be used against him like this. And here he thought he was doing such a great job at being _loving_ and teaching these kids that _love_ came in so many different forms. Not just _God._ But if an ordained priest said otherwise, it must be true, right? 

But what pissed Byleth off was that he didn't even give him the reassurance that he could become a good person. That it wasn't too late to turn towards God.

His fingers locked tighter around each other. “Is that so?” He asked, tense.

“It is so.”

Byleth barked a short laugh, straightening a little in his chair. So much for keeping an open mind. “So not believing in God is a sin itself?”

“A grave one.”

"Alright, so we'll chalk that up as one of my sins."

"You have others you wish to speak of?"

“Is being gay a sin too?”

The exchange between them was so fast that Tomas did not even seem to process what he asked. In fact, he supplied an answer quickly. Surely. “The Bible says it is.”

“Yeah, well, not only am I a bad person who doesn’t believe in God, I also suck dick.”

The chair clattered as he stood and exited with his fists shoved deep in his pockets so no one could see them shake. Byleth found comfort in the horror that flashed across the priest’s face. The sheer _disgust_ in his eyes and slack jaw as he recoiled and held his hand back, trying to get as far away from him as he could. The standard, small Southern town response. 

But priests couldn’t tell any of the confessions they had ever heard-- that was something he learned in second grade and for some reason held close to his heart-- and Byleth delighted in the idea that Tomas just had to sit there with his “filthied” hand and his little “secret” and _deal with it._

On his way back to his seat, he tapped Flayn on the shoulder to let her know it was her turn, and it wasn’t until she left that Seteth could lean over the space where she had been and ask Byleth what was wrong.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“Am I?” He had his hands clasped on the table in front of him, eyes shut, as he pretended to perform his penance prayers.

\---

Byleth was determined not to let that little tidbit ruin his day. In fact, things were looking up for a little while. Tomas had left, and they made an activity out of lunch by making sandwiches for each other. Love could take the form of little, good-neighborly acts. Even Seteth doted on him after noting his change in mood, inconspicuously rallying back and forth with the more difficult students. He appreciated it. He didn't think he could handle losing his patience over a handful of shitty teens.

By the afternoon, the sun had come out and it beat down on them with such force, they all collectively chose to reside by the lake for their hour and a half of free time.

"Can I braid your leg hairs?" Byleth giggled to himself as he took a seat on the towel beside Seteth, who had changed into a pair of cargo pants and was lounging in the shade with his unshaven legs stretched in front of him.

"Haha, very funny." Seteth's tone was sarcastic and flat, but Byleth could tell he was laughing with his nose hidden in his book. 

"You look like a dad." He gestured to the white tee under his unbuttoned print shirt and the sandals.

"You look like a delinquent," Seteth replied easily, giving him a quick once over.

"Is it the tattoo?" Byleth lifted his bare arm. "Because I took out my piercings."

"Not all of them."

"Oh, yeah huh." With a fanged grin, he stuck out his tongue, flashing the little silver stud there and leaning close.

Seteth's nose scrunched up in distaste. "Ew, stop--" 

_Pa-click!_

_"Flayn!"_ Seteth exclaimed, more exasperated than anything. "No phones!"

His daughter only giggled, squeezing into the small space on the towel between her father and Byleth, who threw a welcoming arm around her shoulders. "C'mon, papa. Lemme save a few of these memories. This might be my last retreat!"

"Not if I can help it," Seteth huffed. 

The school she was aiming for was far. Seteth didn't understand why she wouldn't settle for Garreg Mach, which was a thirty minute drive away from home. Away from her _very loving father_ who would probably have a heart attack if he didn't know where she was and what she was doing at every second of the day.

She rolled her eyes and hugged Byleth's arm. He always told her to follow her heart. And if her heart was out of the nest, then it was only right she went with it. Flayn of all people understood why her father was so overbearing, but it was reassuring to know at least Byleth was in her corner for this.

Byleth took her phone and held it out in front of them with the camera flipped for a selfie. “Say St. Seiros!”

“St. Seiros!”

_Click!_

“You too, holy man.” He leaned over and pulled Seteth close, sandwiching Flayn between them in a one-armed hug. 

_Click! Click! Click!_

By the time this “Serendipity” thing rolled around, Byleth had convinced himself that maybe this retreat stuff wasn’t all that bad.

...right?

Byleth slung his guitar over to his front and began tuning. He and a select few of the group leaders were corralled into one of the unused cabins, away from everyone else to prep. The shades were drawn and the lights off. Mercedes lit candles around the perimeter of the room.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on?” He asked. This was starting to look awful cult-like.

Ashe giggled. He had in his hands a new set of stapled printouts, smaller than the ones the rest of the campers had, and was distributing them. Byleth didn’t get one since his hands were busy with his instrument, though he wished he could at least glance over the new script. 

“Probably,” Ashe said with a shrug. “But that’s okay. This is your first retreat, right?”

Calling himself a retreat virgin probably wasn’t the smoothest or apropos thing to say, though it was his first thought, so Byleth simply nodded. 

“I think you’ll get a kick out of this then.”

In the dark, Byleth could see Linhardt narrow his eyes at the lines on the pages. He mumbled. “All you have to do is stand there and play some nice music while we do all this reading. Lucky you.”

Anxiety nagged at him from the pit of his stomach.

The other campers began to pile into the dark room, grumbling about the weird atmosphere, led by Seteth and Flayn. They were all instructed to sit wherever they pleased, so they did, scattered along the floor. 

Marianne cleared her throat, rifling through her packet at the front of the room beside him. “U-uhm… During this weekend we have learned about the many different shapes and… forms love can take. Tonight’s Serendipity focuses on love in the disguise of forgiveness.”

Caspar read next. He was a few feet away on his own wall, next to Ashe. “Forgiveness is the most powerful form of love there is. We give people second chances because we love them, and when we are given the chance to right our wrongs, it is because someone loves us.”

Byleth continued to pluck the strings of his guitar absently, his eyes locked on Seteth, who was kitty corner from him. He cocked a brow slightly, trying to see just what was going on in his head. But Seteth wouldn’t look at him, and he couldn’t read his mind either. 

Flayn spoke up from a different direction. “For the next few minutes, please close your eyes and relax. Open your mind and open your hearts.”

The room stilled for a few minutes, silent save for Byleth’s random chord progression. He figured this was going to be a sort of meditation, and he settled into it. The jitters in his stomach dissipated for a second, before Mercedes spoke up again from her wall, opposite Caspar and Ashe:

“I’m sorry.”

And that was all she said. Byleth’s brow furrowed. A minute later, Linhardt said:

“I forgive you.”

The sun outside was setting. As the room continued to get darker, the candles burned brighter, sinking the room into shades of orange and yellow, red at the edges. 

The group leaders kept a steady pace at reading, with pauses of about a minute between each line. Different voices from different parts of the room bounced off each other.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Byleth tensed. His chest tightened as he held his breath, like the pressure that built up from it threatened to explode in his face. His fingers fumbled against the strings. His skin felt hot again. What kind of fucked up roleplay was this?

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“I’m sorry I failed you as a parent. I love you.”

He tracked the source of their voices in the dark. From Caspar to Ashe to Flayn to Marianne. To Linhardt back to Ashe and then to Mercedes. They were all saying things of the same skein. They weren't speaking to each other. They were addressing the audience, surrounding them with their acting. 

How could they stay so calm? How could they keep their words so level? So sure? _I’m sorry and I forgive you._ These words **meant** something. They weren't just things they could list off a page. Forgiveness took time. For Byleth it took years, and he wasn't… he wasn't even ready for it yet.

Did they not understand what they were doing? What fucked up charade they were playing? Did they know what they were implying? Whose minds they were messing with?

“I should’ve been there for you when you needed me."

Stop...

"Please forgive me.”

_**Stop.** _

There was a roaring in Byleth’s ears, growing louder by the second, threatening to drown them out.

"It wasn't your fault. I understand."

Caspar to Marianne to Mercedes to Flayn to--

_Seteth._

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand you.”

The breath Byleth had been holding escaped him in a cough. It was wet and unrestrained and full of his tears. Gently, he set his guitar down to the side. He had stopped playing a long while ago.

He tried to leave without letting anyone notice, but Seteth followed him into the young night.

"Hey-- _hey,_ where are you going?"

He didn't know.

"Are you okay?"

 _No,_ but the reply got caught in his throat.

Byleth didn't stop marching through the campground until he realized he didn't recognize his surroundings. He had wandered onto a trail of sorts, and there was no light. He stopped, hands on his hips and took in a deep, shuddering inhale. 

"Man. That _sucked_ ," he groaned into his palms breathlessly.

“Byleth.”

"Can you, like…" He wheezed like he had run a marathon, rubbing his eyes with the butts of his palms. "Can you not?"

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you _mean_ what’s wrong?” Byleth threw his hands out to his sides, arms stretched wide. “What was that shit?”

“...did you not enjoy it?”

Byleth whipped around to face him, face hard and streaked with stray tears. “I dunno, Seteth. You tell me.” He felt like an idiot-- a spry twenty-seven year old idiot with a Harley and a scuffed up leather jacket that cried because someone was forcing him to confront his emotions.

"That was so fucked up."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean 'what do I mean?!'"

Seteth attempted to reach for him, and Byleth took a step back.

"You think you can just make a play out of people pretend forgiving them? _Pretend_ saying they're sorry?"

Seteth offered him a lopsided smile. Moved to reach for him again. “Isn't it nice to just… hear it though? Don’t you have someone you need to hear that from?”

Byleth took another step away, brow crunched furiously over his blazing eyes. He wasn't crying anymore, and with the tears out of the way, he realized what upset him so much about this. "Yeah, not from these fucking high school seniors who go on these expensive ass retreats every spring when I was homeless for six fucking years! What the fuck do these spoiled ass kids need to worry about? Some people have _actual problems_ , Seteth!"

That took Seteth aback. "I-I'm sorry--"

"That!" Byleth jabbed a finger at him. "That's not a phrase you can just throw around to prove a point! I don't want to hear 'I'm sorry' from you! I don't want people to pretend that getting into a dark room and praying is going to actually make some shit go away! That fucking priest earlier? Called me a bad person and he wouldn't even let _God_ forgive me during confession!"

"He called you a bad person? You're not a bad person, Byleth."

The words felt sweet to hear, but they didn't alleviate the tremors in Byleth's fingertips.

"Why…" Seteth stammered. He wanted to hold Byleth. Tell him it was going to be okay, but it didn't seem like that was what he needed at the moment. "Why would Father Tomas tell you that?"

"Why is that any of your business?" Byleth bit his tongue. He knew Seteth was just trying to help, but he was blathering. He wasn't prepared for his walls to be taken down as quickly as they were and now everything was spilling forward. He immediately regretted saying it. "I-I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to say that."

But it was too late.

“Oh, _I’m sorry_ ,” Seteth drawled, arms crossed over his chest. “When you took me out to have you by your side while you confronted your father, I didn’t realize it wasn’t _my business._ ”

“Hey--”

“When you signed up to help me with this trip and spent all that time getting close to me, I didn’t think this was _my business._ ”

“Stop it.”

Seteth took a step closer, and Byleth was stuck. Rooted to the ground.

“When you became music minister to _my parish_ just to bug the shit out of me, I suppose that wasn’t _my business_ either.”

“I said I didn't mean it, Seteth. What the fuck?”

“I didn’t realize I meant that little to you, but I guess being concerned for you isn’t my business.”

There was no light on the path. The thicket around them blocked out the moon from above, and neither could see the scowl on the other’s face.

Byleth tucked his chin into his chest. Began to hole himself away again. Here he was, hoping someone would listen to him. Absolve him. He was a fool for opening up. “Y’know what? I don’t need this passive aggressive bullshit from you.”

“I don’t need you ruining this retreat with your repressed emo theatrics.”

Byleth spat into the dirt off the side of the trail. They were at a standstill for a minute, the evening air blowing cold between them. It was dark, and Byleth wasn’t going to hazard going deeper into the woods. It didn’t seem as if Seteth was going to move either until a flashlight lit him up from behind.

“Dad? Byleth?”

Seteth turned to face his daughter.

“Are you guys okay?”

“Y--”

“Yeah.” Byleth brushed past Seteth, head ducked as he mussed Flayn’s hair in passing. 

“What happened?”

He kept walking.

\---

Seteth slept-- or, at least, attempted to sleep alone in their cabin, and Byleth didn’t show his face until breakfast the next morning. He was shivering, miserable, and covered in dirt. He wouldn’t talk about any of these things, nor did he intend to do anything about them.

His eyes were glazed over with a fever, and painfully blank.

It was the last day of their trip, so after breakfast they packed the Chevy, waved goodbye to the bus toting away the rest of the campers, and went their own way. Seteth drove, while Byleth dozed in the passenger seat, and they rode in silence. He did not offer Flayn the aux cord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they did that serendipity thing to us at one of our retreats and i HATED IT lmao just to get that off my chest
> 
> also look ive finalized the number of chapters for this work 
> 
> also welcome to my bottom seteth agenda.
> 
> also welcome to angst town. it gets worse from here.


	8. billboard big

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we learn more things about byleth and seteth learns more things about himself (featuring manuela and jeralt)

"I made Byleth some soup and a care package. Could you bring it to him, papa?"

"Uh, no? _We_ made the care package," Linhardt argued from the couch where he was kicking Caspar's ass at MarioKart.

“Right. Lin and Cass made the care package.”

"Don't you two ever spend time at your own houses?" Seteth sighed as he padded into the kitchen.

"You won't let Flayn hang out at our houses-- **HEY.** That red shell was _uncalled_ for!"

Seteth reached for the aspirin he kept in a cupboard. "Indoor voices, please, Caspar." He couldn't believe he still had to tell a high school senior that.

" _Papa,_ " Flayn groaned, reminding him of her request.

"Sweetheart, we don't have a car right now."

"Yeah, but you're picking it up today, aren't you?"

Seteth wasn’t quite sure what the damage would be to fix the Honda, but it was probably better than buying a new one. He hadn't the money to even consider upgrading, and just towing it to the shop had him rethinking his budget for the month.

He sighed and swallowed the pills dry. He didn’t want to see Byleth. He wanted to apologize, yes. He wanted to tell him how insensitive he acted and take back all the things he said. He didn’t know why, but the thought of facing Byleth made his insides twist in cold knots. It was a feeling he knew quite well but couldn’t put a finger on, resting somewhere between guilt and anxiety. He just didn’t want to see him. 

But Flayn was piling on the puppy dog eyes especially well that morning and--

“If you don’t do it, I’ll have Caspar drive me there.”

_“Oh, absolutely **not.** ”_

He trusted Caspar on the road with his baby girl as far as he could throw him. He wasn't even good at virtual driving.

"Oh, good! So you'll do it?"

He conceded with a sigh, and wordlessly trudged back upstairs to his room, where it was quieter and he could nurse his headache.

It was fast approaching noon, but his blinds were closed and he fell back into bed. They'd already been home from the retreat for two days, but sleep continued to evade him. He hadn't slept a wink since before their last night at camp. Every time he closed his eyes he saw…

Byleth.

His leather jacket-clad back slouched over the altar in the amphitheatre, holding him up by the elbows. Moonlight rained down on his frame, and in the darkness his silhouette looked smaller than it should have. The image of this was glued to the back of Seteth's eyelids.

Byleth didn't come back for dinner or their last night campfire, and he didn't show up for lights out. The Chevy was still parked in front of the main hall which meant he hadn't jumped ship yet, and this was the only place Seteth could think to search for him.

Seteth descended the slope of the crater in silence.

A chill was settling on the forest floor, and Seteth, bundled up in a jacket because he knew now how cold this place could get, was worried because Byleth had yet to change out of his shorts from their earlier lounge by the lake.

"Byleth--" His too-quiet voice cracked. He cleared his throat to try again but he was interrupted by a terrible noise.

Gripping the altar, Byleth threw his head far back and screamed, long and loud. He wailed, pushing every last bit of his breath from his body and forcing it into the air, until his lungs felt pinched and crumpled like tinfoil. Like a wounded animal, his pitch climbed higher and higher. _Howling._ Desperately, he called for someone-- a pack or a _home,_ and nobody answered back.

The sound whipped around him with the wind, and the wind carried his song to touch the tips of mountains and fill out the valleys with his mourning, resounding in echoes through the trees and grass. It shook Seteth to the core. He didn't know who or what Byleth was summoning. He didn't know what he longed for, but he felt it-- almost familiar and dense in his bones.

What pain was he hiding? 

Seteth watched Byleth push off the altar and stoop down to pick up a rock. He chucked it at the crucifix and missed, so he tried again. Again and again until he hit it.

"Stupid fucking… God!" He yelled. "Stupid fucking expensive ass camp! Stupid me! Stupid Seteth! Stupid ugly ass, bald ass priest! Why did I even--" He paused his rambling to pick up another rock and throw it. It sailed over the left arm of the cross and plummeted into the abyss below. "Why did I even think for a second that…"

He trailed off. It didn't seem like he knew what he was saying.

"I never think! I never fucking think and this always fucking happens!" 

"Byleth--"

He didn't hear him. He just continued pitching stones at the crucifix. One connected with the wood of it with such a worryingly solid _thwack_ it bounced back. Seteth grabbed him by the wrist before he could toss another.

"Seteth-!"

"Stop."

"Oh, my god--" He whispered, eyes wide. He was suddenly stock-still except for the quivering hand in the other's grip. It was as if he had just broken out of a trance. "Oh, my god, I'm so sorry. Seteth, oh my god. Were you watching me? I'm so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I just… I just… What am I doing? What am I even doing?"

Seteth's grip on his arm loosened. He was afraid that if he let go, Byleth would just vanish, but holding him felt… incriminating. Like a mother catching their child drawing on the walls. He didn't want to punish him. He wanted to pull him closer and comfort him, but he didn't know how. So he let go. 

Byleth lowered himself onto the ground, panting and splayed in the shadow of the crucifix.

"Fuck," Byleth whispered, clamping his eyes shut. "Fuck. Can you just… can you leave me alone? Please?"

And Seteth did. Again he fought the urge to take the man into his arms and hold him and promise him it was okay. But something held him back. A dead weight in his chest told him it wasn't enough to embrace him and that the words "It's okay" were worthless on their own.

Seteth did as he was told. He walked back out of the amphitheatre. He left him alone.

Flayn poked her head into his room, considerately keeping her voice down.

“Papa, Miss Casagrande’s here to pick you up.” 

He yawned and pulled himself out of bed. He wasn’t sleeping, just dreaming. 

\---

“Soo, how are things?”

The headache still hadn’t dissipated and he was beginning to regret asking Manuela to drive him instead of someone more attentive and _quiet_ like Hanneman. At least Hanneman knew when to fuck off. Her car smelled like old cigarettes and food, all wrapped up and baked sour by the sun, and it did the throbbing behind his eyes no favors.

“Things?” He rolled down a window, covertly sticking his head as far out it as he could. The wind felt nice on his face. 

In his lap sat a hefty thermos of Flayn's homemade chicken noodle soup and Caspar and Linhardt's care package, which was an Easter basket full of Tylenol, manga, a Netflix gift card, and a yellow blanket patterned with painted eggs from Target's seasonal dollar section.

“Y’know, Flayn. Work. Church,” she supplied. “You never talk to me anymore. You’re always too busy making googly eyes at my busboy.”

Mittelfrank’s was her bar, so Byleth was her busboy. Was Byleth Seteth’s _anything?_

"Manuela, my head fucking _hurts,_ " he grumbled as he ran his hands down his face.

"Always the naughty words with you, Seteth," she drawled, undeterred. "C'mooon! Lemme hear all the juicy bits. You two are always holed up in his room."

"Can you just drive?" 

"You won't even talk to your best friend anymore," she whined.

"Who said you were my best friend?"

"I'll start singing~" She chirped.

"Please fucking don't~" He mocked her singsong tone.

That got a laugh out of her, and she shrugged. "Seriously though, how are you holding up? You must be exhausted. You look horrible. Oh, that's right! How was the retreat?"

Seteth didn't indulge her with an answer, and with the car sufficiently aired out, he sat back in his seat and closed his tired eyes.

Manuela let him sink into the silence of her car for a few minutes before she spoke again, more softly.

"Y'know, he talks about you a lot, Seteth." 

He didn't respond. He only took a deep breath in and held it halfway out on the exhale. That meant he was listening. 

"When he first came here, oh, I dunno, a couple months ago? He was so quiet. Waited tables and went back upstairs. Said hello to pay rent and went back upstairs. The mysterious type you know I like, but I could never get him to even look at me. Never knew why. And then… Well, you stopped by to check up on me after a particularly horrible breakup because _we're best friends--_ "

Seteth opened his eyes if only to shoot her a look, but she continued anyways.

"--and you two met and… he just opened up." Manuela made a flitting gesture with one hand off the wheel. 

Seteth remembered that night well, with Manuela imbibing more drinks than she served from behind the counter. He fought the itch to just ditch her and leave her alone to her drunken, "heart-broken" ramblings, knowing damn well she'd move onto the next poor sap as soon as her hangover subsided. But then he watched Byleth amble down from the stairs in the back, clunking along the wooden floors in his combat boots and...

Their eyes met, if only for a fraction of a second. Seteth didn't know what it was that he saw in the other man, but in that moment, he watched something behind Byleth's eyes just _spark._ Byleth straightened his back and cocked his head, as if recognizing an old friend whose name was just on the tip of his tongue. He smiled without even knowing why. 

His gaze welcomed him home.

They introduced themselves to each other, and Byleth's name rolled off the tongue, smooth and sweet like honey. He leaned in with a smirk and a firm handshake, dark hair and dark eyes, distant and cool, breath sweet with good whiskey.

It was a Wednesday.

"You two met and just… I dunno. You both changed. Like you had a fire rekindled in you."

"Do tell me more," he uttered under his breath, only half serious.

"You didn't realize? It's like you've crawled out of your shell and that shell was the only thing keeping the rest of us safe from your mean ass--"

" _Hey--_ "

"You've gotten so rude!" She laughed, leaning into the steering wheel. "You just say the first thing that comes to mind. It's like you've learned to respect yourself a little more. Speak up for what you want."

"And I didn't before?"

Manuela grimaced, rolling her words around in her head and choosing them carefully. "...no?"

"Fuck you."

"See! Like that! Before you would just say--" She mimicked his voice, exaggerating a bit on the nasal notes and rolling her eyes and shoulders back-- "'Is that a bad thing?'"

"I do _not_ sound like that."

"Say what you want but you're only proving my point." She accentuated the word point by reaching over and flicking his nose with a perfectly manicured finger. "You're just a lot more fun now, y'know? That's not a bad thing."

Manuela continued chattering away, absolutely fascinated by the topic, like Byleth and Seteth were the subjects of some fucked up science project or reality TV. "And _Byleth!_ He just lights up around you. It's always 'Seteth this' and 'Seteth that' with him, and he never gets tired of you! Ha! Lord knows I would."

_Gee, thanks,_ Seteth thought to himself, knowing he couldn't get a spoken word in otherwise.

"Is it true you have freckles on the inside of your thighs?"

_"Who told you that?"_

Manuela giggled to herself. "Guess."

" _Why_ would he tell you _that?_ "

"I told you. He talks about you a lot. He said it’s the cutest thing."

"I'm going to jump out of this car."

"You won't."

As if to solidify that, Manuela rolled up Seteth's window, creating a vacuum of silence between them with the rush of the road outside muted by the glass. The scenery around them became a little less familiar the farther away they got from town.

"But he really likes you," she said again. "I dunno what he sees in you exactly besides that huge stick up your ass, though I suppose that's appealing for a man looking for other men--"

_"Manuela."_

She laughed again, not at all unkind. She cared for both of them and knew when she was teasing too much. "What is he to you?"

Seteth reclined in his seat, rubbing his temples. Thinking about it only made his headache worse. "Don't ask me that."

"He must mean a lot to you then."

What was with people lately knowing more about him than he knew about himself?

But Manuela left it at that, and Seteth closed his eyes, letting the bump of the car along the road lull him into a semi-conscious state. Still not quite sleeping, just dreaming again. 

He rewinded the tape of his mind, playing back the memory of when he first met Byleth. Did he really start to branch out when they met? He didn't feel "fun" like Manuela had said. He felt more irritable. He put up with so much of Byleth's bullshit it just set him on edge. Or maybe he was always this irritable. He didn't have a point of reference from before the tape began. It was like he had always and only known Byleth.

When he opened his eyes again, they were parked in front of the garage.

He still didn’t want to see Byleth, so he left Manuela to deliver the kids’ basket of goodies for him. She was going back to the bar anyways, so she didn’t mind but--

“I think it would do him a world of good if you brought it to him yourself,” she said, hand on her chin. 

“Manuela, please, I just want to pick up my car and go home. My head is going to explode.”

“Alright, but don’t blame me if he never gets any of it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

Seteth glared at her and exited the car, leaving the soup and sick package in the front seat. His unwillingness to face Byleth outweighed his mistrust of her at that moment, so he shut the door behind him, watched as she drove off in the direction they came from, and headed into the shop, out of the sun.

No one was there to greet him at the front desk, so after a few minutes of waiting, he let himself into the back.

"Leonie?" He called out. The size of the hangar-turned-garage still awed him, and the echo of his voice around the tall ceilings made him feel a lot smaller and lonelier than he was.

The Honda was sitting there, parked pretty in the middle of the floor and looking as good as new (though Seteth couldn't for the life of him figure out what was wrong with it in the first place just by looking). The keys were on the dashboard, and the doors were unlocked. Seteth stood by the hood of his vehicle, waiting and wondering what to do until a vaguely familiar face ducked into the garage from the back door and lumbered towards him.

"Mr. Eisner, I-- oh. Is Leonie not here?" He'd spoken to her on the phone earlier, hoping to avoid… this.

"Lunch," he replied gruffly. "And it's just Jeralt, Mister…?"

"Seteth. Just Seteth."

"Right. I don't think we properly met last time. You're my son's uh…." Jeralt held out a big, work-worn hand.

"We know each other," he said simply, giving his hand as firm a shake as he could. He didn't know if he was anything to Byleth.

"Right." Jeralt stood with his hands on his hips, assessing Seteth with a tilted head. He and Byleth pursed their lips the same way in thought. "That Honda yours?"

Seteth didn't appreciate being appraised the way he was but held his tongue. "Yes, it is."

Jeralt clicked his tongue. "Horrible condition. What the hell did you do to it?" He walked over to the car and launched into some tirade about technical terms and parts that Seteth had no clue about but boy, did they sound expensive.

Byleth obviously picked up a mannerism or two from his father. The puffed out chest and a slanted stance that favored the left leg. The four fingers circling the air by his head as his speech got more excited. When Byleth was excited, he became more interested in saying words and less attentive to the person he was saying them to. He just talked to talk.

Seteth chuckled at the resemblance and clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

Jeralt stopped mid-sentence, tucking his gesturing hand into the crook of his opposite arm. "Something funny?"

The youth group minister decided to reply honestly. "I was just thinking how alike you and Byleth are."

"Huh." 

It seemed the old mechanic forgot about the dismal state of the Civic because his lips puckered and he glanced at the ground (the same way Byleth did when something intrigued him but he didn't quite know what to make of it just yet, like when he discovered pear flavored Red Bull at 7-11 or Seteth's fishing lure collection in his garage). 

"...how…" Jeralt spoke haltingly. "How is he? My kid, I mean. Is he… doing alright?"

From one single and (doubtless) worried dad to another, Seteth felt obligated to answer. "He's doing alright for himself. He works at the bar. Rents the room above it."

"Oh, does he now? Might have to pay him a visit."

Seteth pursed his lips. Perhaps he divulged more information than he should have. He couldn't imagine Byleth being too pleased to have his dear old dad pop in unannounced.

"Is he still doing that music thing? You know, singing and stuff?" Jeralt leaned on the hood of the car, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Seteth didn't appreciate him sitting on his car like that. He didn't like the way he called Byleth's passion _singing and stuff_ either but his indigence kept him interested in the conversation. "He recently became our music minister."

"Oh? Over at St. Indech's?" He asked with a nod over his shoulder.

"Yes."

"Huh. Weird."

Silence for a moment.

"You got kids?" Jeralt asked.

"A daughter." At this point in the exchange, Seteth wondered to himself what the hell he was doing entertaining him with answers. He just wanted to pick up NyQuil on the way home, chug it, and spend the rest of his spring break in a medically-induced coma.

...maybe he _was_ getting a little rude.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Jeralt said, cracking a smile. "Being a parent, I mean. All you gotta do is keep your kid happy and you do all you can and then you blink and they're 27 and you haven’t even spoken in six years." The smile grew a little more melancholy. "Don't even know how, but you fucked it all up."

More silence. The heat was stifling.

Seteth looked away, trailing his eyes over the shelves of yellowing photographs. There lied all the proof that Jeralt loved his son. He didn't see where Jeralt could have possibly gone wrong in the paper timeline of Byleth's life. His gaze lingered on a picture of the two on a park bench, pressed side by side, Jeralt’s hand clasped around Byleth’s much smaller one.

"Anyways. I didn't mean to ramble. You probably just wanna go home, right? Forget I said any of that. She's all good to go." He heaved himself up off the hood of the vehicle. Gave it a pat. "Just take better care of it. Jesus, I swear."

Seteth took the keys from the older man.

"Just back it out that way and bring it out front." Jeralt was already walking away, waving over his shoulder without looking back. 

"Right, thank you."

The mechanic stopped in his tracks. "Take care of him too, will ya?"

"...I will."

Now to drown himself in cough medicine and aspirin. 

\---

The little tan Honda's wheels crunched on the gravel as it parked in front of Mittelfrank's.

"...I can't fucking believe myself," Seteth groaned as he killed the engine.

Manuela was smoking at the bar, feet propped up on the counter. She didn’t acknowledge him on the way in-- just continued puffing. The basket of goodies sat untouched by her heel, and she simply kicked it his way. 

“Don’t--” He snapped before she could even open her mouth. He snatched up the basket by the handle as he passed by her on his way to the stairs. “Don’t fucking say anything.”

“Naughty words~”

Byleth sat slouched on his mattress against the wall, looking like a bug cocooned in blankets and his sweatshirt hood pulled over his head, the strings tugged tight. His nose poked out, red and raw from being blown into tissues, which littered his bed. 

“...You look like shit.”

The musician jerked a little. It appeared he was asleep under all that. “Wh-- hoh, my god…” He groaned, sinking into his bed more. His voice was scratchy. “Seteth, you scared the hell out of me.”

Seteth just sat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle the other. “Flayn made you some soup.” He plopped the package on Byleth’s lap. “And Caspar and Linhardt put some goodies together for you too.”

Byleth pried apart his hoodie from his face so he could see, and a small smile split his pallid complexion. “Oh my god, these kids are angels.” He sniffled and picked up one of the volumes of Inuyasha to thumb through. He glanced up with glassy eyes. “Nothing from you?” Even teasing looked like it took a lot of effort.

“I dragged my ass--” He paused to rethink his sentence, and reworded it so it was less _rude._ It was oddly difficult. "I took time out of my day to come here and deliver it to you personally with a headache the size of Montana."

The younger man pouted. “Poor baby.” He set the thermos and all on the floor beside him and held out his arms. 

Seteth didn’t have the capacity to even think twice about it-- didn’t wonder why Byleth wasn’t mad at him, didn’t chastise himself for so readily accepting his embrace. The only thing that occupied the space between his ears was a throbbing pain, and he just wanted to close his eyes. He toed off his shoes and settled against Byleth’s chest. His skin burned through his clothes, and Seteth lifted a hand to his forehead.

“You’re really hot.”

“Why thank you.”

The hand lifted an inch of his forehead and smacked him. 

“I am _frail_ and I _will_ sic my germs on you,” Byleth rasped.

“Try it,” Seteth whispered back.

His hand began to comb through the little rockstar’s hair, brushing his locks out of his face. It was grossly damp with sweat, but Seteth didn’t mind, because the motion made Byleth’s eyelids flutter shut and his gaze could no longer burn holes through him. Seteth's head rose and fell with Byleth's breath, and he lied there, listening to the rush of air fill and empty his lungs.

Seteth didn't know why, but he felt awfully uneasy about everything. On top of wanting to say sorry, anxiety fluttered in his stomach and danced across his fingertips. He was scared. The stunt Byleth pulled at the retreat, tearfully disappearing into the night and consequently falling as ill as he did... It all scared him. 

But he didn’t say that. 

"...Byleth."

He replied with a sniffle and a series of small coughs. The smooth tempo of his breathing was interrupted. "Yeah?"

"Would you… like to talk about what happened?"

The coughs turned into a crackly chuckle. "You're really gonna force me to talk like this?"

"I'm not _forcing_ you." But his tone implied he wanted to.

Byleth was silent for a minute, and Seteth was convinced he wasn't going to talk about it until he opened his mouth again.

"It was just… a lot, y'know?" He croaked. "I expected camping, I got modern buildings in the middle of the woods--"

"That's your own fault," the older man pointed out.

"I know." Byleth sighed. "I dunno if you could tell, but I'm not exactly the most religious person."

"I could tell," Seteth replied in a whisper.

“Why are you whispering? You can talk normally.”

“I don’t like talking when you can’t. It doesn’t feel right.” 

"You're weird." He cracked a smile, eyes still shut as Seteth took back his hand from his hair, resting it against his chest. "But yeah. I'm trying to work my… issues out with the church. Because, y'know, I grew up here like… This." He lifted a hand and gestured to himself. To the both of them. "And religion wasn't exactly my friend."

Seteth reached over for a fresh tissue from the box and wiped Byleth’s nose with it.

“Ew, gross, don’t do that.” He turned his head away from the fussing. “I don’t know. I guess I was just… frustrated? I kept thinking that maybe things had changed. Maybe I could do this whole Catholic thing after all. Maybe God actually loves fuckup 'sinners' like me. And then fucking Tomas…” Byleth let that thought go and sighed. “There’s nothing worse than being let down.”

Seteth listened intently, watching his dry lips. "And Serendipity didn't help either."

Byleth scoffed. " _Fuck_ no." He slid further down on the mattress to get more comfortable, and Seteth conformed to the curve of his body. "God, that shit pissed me off."

"I noticed."

His eyes rolled under their lids. "I hurt… a lot, Seteth. There's a lot I haven't healed from. To pretend that… forgiveness could come so easily…." He sighed and left it at that.

Seteth wanted to apologize for abandoning him in the dirt, but the point was probably moot. "Did your father hurt you?"

Byleth blinked his eyes open at the ceiling. "No," he said, and his tone was convincing. His heart kept a steady beat under Seteth's ear. "My dad's great. If anything, I think _I_ hurt _him._ "

“He thinks he did something wrong.”

"How’d you know that?"

“Had to pick up my car from the shop today and Leonie wasn’t there to save me.” Seteth paused, waiting to see if Byleth was mad about that. When he was certain he wasn’t, he continued to say, “In any case as a father, I would think the same.”

Byleth heaved a heavy sigh. "It's not his fault. I just had a lot of emotions I didn't know how to sort through. Still don't, probably. And I was ashamed, I guess, and the only thing I figured I could do about it was run away." 

Ashamed? The Byleth Seteth knew was full of himself. Arrogant, even. But… he supposed he understood. He was familiar with the anxiety that came with the dirty looks he got in public. He heard the disgust in the voices that whispered rumors about him. He couldn't blame him from running from all that-- from these people and this town.

"I've been meaning to talk to him. Say sorry for worrying him and all that. Just figuring out how."

They were both quiet for a bit, and Seteth could feel himself drifting off into sleep, his headache dulling with the rhythm of Byleth’s breath, like waves washing the pain away from shore.

“Do you want me to be with you?” Another pause. “When you confront your father, I mean.”

“Even though it’s not your business?” Byleth opened one eye to peek at him, biting back a smile.

Seteth brought a hand up to the other’s wan, sunken face and brushed more hair off his sweaty brow. “Do you want me to say sorry?”

“Could you prove you’re sorry?”

Byleth opened his other eye and the two of them watched each other for a moment.

“How?” Seteth asked, retreating back as Byleth leaned in. 

He stopped, just two millimeters away, grinning softly. The ball was in Seteth’s court. _How,_ he asked. It seemed like a rhetorical question at that point.

It was just two millimeters between them. A breath. A _blink_ … and it felt like a million miles. But Byleth closed his eyes, waiting, head tilted patiently, and he managed to draw Seteth in. From the moment they met, Seteth had been powerless to the pull between them, like magnets, the force as strong as it is unfathomable.

Seteth was, put simply, swept away by this mystery man, who had come so suddenly-- so _emphatically_ into his life, inserting himself into the center of his universe. Byleth made Seteth’s every waking moment revolve around _himself_ and… Seteth let him. He welcomed the change. Embraced him tearing down his walls and throwing open all the windows in his tiny, closed mind. He couldn't fight bursting into laughter at his stories, couldn't resist gripping Byleth's hand a little tighter when offered.

Couldn't help kissing him. _Holding_ him and scrambling to grab any part of him he could until they were both breathless and Seteth thought his heart was going to beat out of his skull.

"I'm sorry," Seteth murmured, again and again. It didn't sound right. It didn't sound like what he wanted to say, but he said it anyways, bringing his lips crashing down upon Byleth's. "I'm sorry."

The musician was grinning through all of it, pressing back, steadfast so as not to get blown away by Seteth’s fervor. He knew what he was trying to say.

Gently, slowly, Byleth kissed back, tempering him into a calmer tempo-- slower and slower still until they could bear to part.

And Byleth, ever smug, stared Seteth down with a cocked brow, watching his shoulders rise and fall as they both caught their breath.

“Have you eaten?” Seteth asked, as if that were the most natural segue out of what just happened.

Byleth chuckled. For a moment there, he had forgotten he was sick. He shook his head. “No appetite.”

“That’s no good--” He moved to grab the soup Flayn had so lovingly made for him, but Byleth’s arms came down and wrapped around his waist, effectively trapping him.

“No. Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to make this chapter upsetting but i'll save it for the next two :) thanks as always for reading 
> 
> also [setleth zine](https://twitter.com/setlethzine) is open to writer and artist applications so if ur interested go check it out and/or support the project !!


	9. confidants but never friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chaos of change, trying something for the first time, coming out, group chats, and saying goodbye.
> 
> cw : homophobia

Byleth dyed his hair, and Seteth liked it a little too much.

It was now a pastel mint color, light and electrifying.

Flayn’s eyes lit up when Byleth first walked through their front door with the new look. She invited him over for dinner again. It was Friday, so after dinner he and Seteth would leave for the bar, and Linhardt and Caspar were over as well for their weekly movie night. The routine was something she would miss when she went off for college, so she cherished it. 

“Oh my goodness!” She gasped, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Byleth, your hair!”

“What? This?” He grinned, giving his bangs a dramatic flip. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Linhardt, who was napping on the couch. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while now. Just never had the time to. "What about it, puff? You like it?”

She nodded so enthusiastically a hair clip fell from her curls.

“That’s so sick!” Caspar punched the air from his end of the couch. “Bro, it looks so good. You should do mine! Wait, do Lin’s!”

Lin kicked him, suddenly awake. “Shut up.” He turned over, pulling the jacket around him tighter, but not before he opened his eyes and took in the sight of Byleth’s new hair for a second. “Looks good.” And he went back to sleep.

“Linhardt, dinner’s almost ready,” Seteth called with a sigh as he pulled a tray out of the oven. "Please don't go to bed yet."

Byleth approached him in the kitchen and waited for him to set the lasagna on the counter to wrap his pinky around Seteth’s, getting as close as he could without the kids seeing. Seteth was adamant on no PDA in the house, and this was as much as he would allow. (Byleth wondered what the P in PDA stood for if they were in the privacy of Seteth’s own home.)

“What about you, Seteth? Do you like it?” He was teasing him with a soft smile.

“You’re such an…” What did the kids say? “...attention whore.”

Caspar coughed. “Uh--” He burst into laughter. What was Seteth becoming?

_“Papa!”_ Flayn exclaimed, but she was giggling too as she took plates out from the cupboard.

“Oh, I see how it is!” Byleth put a hand to his chest in mock horror.

Seteth only rolled his eyes. “It’s like….” He started to say.

“Mama’s hair,” Flayn finished, setting the table without looking up. She was hiding a smile.

Byleth’s eyes widened and flitted back and forth between the two’s faces, gaging their reactions. Seteth’s expression was forcefully flat. “Is that-- Is that bad?” 

Seteth shook his head, pulling his finger from his grasp. “No, I like it.”

"Wow, you _really_ like it," Byleth said later in his room, falling onto his mattress with a soft _oof._

Seteth couldn't stop touching it. He expected for it to be absolutely _fried_ , going from its original dark hue to a much lighter one in such a short amount of time, but when he ran his fingers through it, it was as soft as ever. And it was such a lovely color-- so _different_ and yet it smelled the same. Still felt the same.

"It's like you've never seen someone dye their hair before." With tender hands, Byleth pried Seteth's nose and lips off his scalp and onto his own lips. 

"I've never seen it look this good on someone," he replied, still combing his hands through it.

Byleth distracted him, pulling him away, coaxing him into one kiss after the other, back into the rhythm of their sex.

With a hand on the other's shoulder, Seteth flipped positions with him so that he was lying on the mattress and Byleth was straddling his waist. The younger man raised a brow at this.

"..what?"

Seteth said nothing. He only turned his head, pressing his flushed cheeks into the sheets, and guided Byleth's hand to his pants.

"You want me to…" He had a faint idea what was going on here but just had to make sure.

"Before I change my mind!" 

Byleth cocked a brow, and his fingers curled into the hem of Seteth's jeans.

"I would've dyed my hair sooner if it meant we could do this." He grinned, peeling Seteth's pants off. "You sure?"

"Before I change my mind," he said again, rolling his hips up, already half hard.

"So demanding." Byleth purred. He leaned in, pressed a kiss to the side of Seteth's neck, and murmured, "I'll be gentle, okay?"

A tremor rattled through Seteth, making him feel warm from head to toe. 

His hands pushed Seteth's shirt off, palms exploring the curves of his stomach as they went along. He could see in the way he tensed beneath his touch that Seteth held some… reserves. After all this time, he was still unsure about their sex. How it would play out.

Byleth went slow, as promised. He touched him gently, watching as his apprehension melted, until he was completely relaxed and sweet under his fingers. He was always this way in bed. Gentle. Expert. Only pulling away to peel off his clothes every other minute or so. His stupid leather jacket first, and then the t-shirt and then Seteth’s slacks before his own tight, _tight_ jeans….

He didn’t make a show out of undressing but Seteth couldn’t help but look at Byleth's body, hungry, as always, but with an underlying tinge of jealousy. Byleth was young. Lean and hairless, with little divots and creases on his stomach to define his muscles… And Seteth, while not exactly _old_ , had none of these things. His arms and thighs were soft and covered in fine little hairs, and pudge had started to settle on his stomach. 

He forgot about these little insecurities for a little while-- they were insignificant in the wake of Byleth’s generous attention. The way he touched him, ran his guitar-calloused fingers down his skin, tracing little paths through the hair on his thighs as he spread them apart… It made Seteth feel worthy of such affections.

It made him feel wanted.

Byleth’s hand wandered dangerously low, dipping under the elastic of Seteth’s boxers, making him squirm as it didn’t stop to tend to his aching cock. His fingers trailed along the underside of his shaft, feather light from the head to the base, dipping behind his balls and stopping just short of his entrance. Seteth tensed, vaulted forward and buried his nose into Byleth’s shoulder.

“You good?” He chuckled, but he didn’t move.

“I don’t…” Seteth blushed furiously, allowing himself to knowing Byleth couldn’t see him like this.

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t… I don’t want your fingers… there….”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously….”

“I’ve had your dick in my mouth and I can’t put my fingers in you?” He was laughing now, with his hand slowly stroking Seteth instead.

Seteth lodged his upper teeth into the other’s shoulder in response.

“Ow--!” He still giggled to himself in spite of the pain. It just seemed silly, all things considered. “Are you sure? It might hurt a bit without it.”

“I can take it,” Seteth said, panting and growing impatient. He rolled his hips into Byleth’s hand to remind him what exactly they were doing.

Byleth grunted, his own cock jumping to attention. “Y’know, that’s… so fucking hot.” He took Seteth by the chin and led his lips to his. 

It wasn’t just his actions that made him feel wanted. It was his words too. Byleth loved talking during sex, and Seteth loved hearing him talk. Loved hearing him coo and purr little approving phrases into his ear as he laid him back down and got him to relax. Loosen up for him. He always asked what Seteth wanted. Made sure he was doing right by him.

“I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long, y’know that?”

He didn’t know that, and the thought drove him crazy. Did Byleth lie in bed alone, thinking about this? Pleasure himself, imagining what it'd be like inside him? Because Lord knows Seteth did.

Byleth reached over to the little cranny where the bed met the wall, where he kept the lube. He poured some onto his hands and dipped between Seteth’s legs again. “Shh, just let me touch you,” he murmured when he started to protest. “Spread your legs just a little for me… Good… Good.”

Seteth trembled with his hands gripping the pillow by his head as Byleth prepped him, prodding his ass and taint with slicked fingertips. He lined himself up, teasing the head of his length against him, and a choked little mewl escaped from Seteth’s throat.

Byleth huffed a small breath of air onto Seteth's face as he leaned over him. A cocky chuckle. "I didn't know you could make that sound. Relax for me, baby... There you go.” He eased a little bit of himself in, only stopping to see if Seteth was okay. He paused when he tensed, patiently allowing himself to get accustomed to him being inside, and he only moved again when Seteth said he could. This of course warranted forcing him to use his words, which was fun for Byleth-- making him ask for it. 

It was awkward and slow, but Byleth was having fun with it, and it took some time with the pace they were going at, but eventually he’d pushed in to the hilt.

“Can I move?” 

“W-wait, not yet.” Seteth’s voice was somewhere between a moan and an uncomfortable sigh against Byleth’s ear.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me one day,” Byleth said with a slightly strained laugh and rested his forehead against the pillow beside Seteth’s face. The tight heat around his cock was starting to get to him, but he acquiesced, only pressing in even further and resisting the temptation to pull out, stretching his hole deliciously around his girth. He washed the side of Seteth’s throat with tender little bites and kisses, whispering little nothings to him. “You feel so good, baby. I wanna make you feel good too… You’re doing beautifully.”

Seteth whimpered beneath him, covering his red cheeks behind his hands. 

“You like that?” Byleth took his hands from his face. Kissed his knuckles and experimentally moved back a little. Seteth gave a soft sigh and moved with him, forgetting the burn between his legs. “Can I move now?”

He managed a nod.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised.

Seteth was so sweet beneath him, with their fingers firmly interlocked. He trembled as Byleth explored and pleasured the places deep within him that had never been touched before. Byleth watched him as he melted, his expressions becoming freer. His eyes fluttered shut and his mouth hung open as he let his voice come, moaning Byleth’s name between each lazy thrust and each little kiss.

“You’re so good, Seteth,” the musician purred as he drove his hips home a little more harshly.

Seteth jolted, eyes snapping open, a loud gasp leaving his lips.

“Did you like that?” 

He managed a feeble nod, raising his hips to meet Byleth’s when he did it again, and a searing hot sensation shot from a tight coil deep in his stomach shot up his spin and back down to his cock, spurting out in little dribbles of precum.

“There?” Byleth grinned, a little wickedly, mint green bangs falling into his eyes.

“There!” Seteth bucked against him, chasing that sensation.

Byleth shifted, pushing the other’s legs back. “Say please?”

Indignant, Seteth hesitated. Bit his lip. Glared a little, with his chest heaving.

“Say please,” he chuckled as he rammed into him once. Twice.

Seteth choked back a cry, his head thrown back into a pillow. “By-- ah… ohh….”

“Good enough.”

Byleth took hold of Seteth’s cock, jerking him off in rhythm with his thrusts. Making him moan and sigh and whisper delicious, needy little things into the back of his hand, eyes slighted and dewy. His vision started to get hazy and white at the edges as his prostate was worked with such expert precision.

“You’re beautiful,” Byleth whispered to him, words slurring together as he tried to ignore the climax mounting intensely hot in the pit of his stomach. He bit his lip, wiping hair from Seteth’s flushed face to see him better. Watch him as he lost himself to his orgasm. “And you feel so good… Can I cum in you, Seteth?”

“Th-that’s so--”

_That’s so dirty,_ he tried to say, but for the life of him couldn’t.

Seteth’s body shuddered, wracked with pleasure. He felt like he was being assaulted on too many sides-- overstimulated by the assault on his cock and ass, shaken up by the words that Byleth murmured to him, so sincere and gentle… _So gentle--_

He cried out, jolted by the sensation of something hot coursing inside him, pushing him over the edge.

When he finally came down from it, panting and limp and incredibly out of it, Byleth was brushing gentle kisses along his jaw and throat. He was being cleaned up with a tissue, and the younger man was laughing to himself. Byleth was talking, but he could barely hear him over the roar in his ears.

“...ou okay?” He brought a hand up to his face. Thumbed his cheek. “Seteth?”

“Mh…” He closed his eyes. Let the room stop spinning around him for a second and catch his breath.

Byleth chuckled softly with a kiss to the little pout that had formed on his lips. “Was your first time really that good?”

It was.

\---

Seteth stirred awake, suddenly cold. The sheets were pulled up to his chin, but Byleth had gotten up and the dent he left in the mattress was quickly losing heat. Eyes still closed, he patted around the bed with one hand in search of him, not daring to venture outside the warmth he had trapped in the blankets. He could hear water rushing through the pipes in the walls. Byleth was taking a shower, humming scales.

A soreness had settled into his body. Everything felt heavy, including his eyelids. Sleep permeated his senses.

He blinked, and he awoke again when Byleth’s weight shifted the bed. He smelled fresh and clean. It was still dark out, but teases of sunrise filtered through the curtains, mingling with the fairy lights above his head and creating a kind, yellow glow in the room.

“Sorry. Go back to sleep,” Byleth whispered. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Seteth’s forehead, making him close his eyes and drift off once more.

Byleth tried to make as little noise as possible as he set up his tripod and hooked up his laptop with his microphone. He felt particularly inspired and didn’t want to let the opportunity slip, even if it was barely 7 in the morning. He checked again to make sure Seteth was asleep, gently thumbing his cheek-- touching him for a long minute and peppering his peaceful face with kisses-- and when he didn’t so much as stir, Byleth went to tune his guitar.

\---

On Sunday morning, Rhea was waiting for them at the doors of the church.

"Seteth."

"Good morning, Rhea."

"You don't have to set up for Sunday school. You are removed from your duties as youth group leader."

Seteth stopped dead in his tracks, one foot on the bottom step leading to the church doors. His pleasant smile was frozen on his face still, as he didn't quite process what she had so abruptly said. "I'm sorry?"

“The parish board met after the surfacing of a certain video, and we decided it’s for the best.”

"I--? Video? What video?" He looked to his daughter, who trailed behind him, and tried to confirm that he was hearing correctly. Flayn stared back at him with wide eyes, hands clutched around her New Testament. 

She knew.

"You're no longer allowed to teach Sunday school," Rhea said again with a shudderingly cold air of finality. 

“Rhea, I--” Seteth began to plead. If he could only ask for some sort of clarification, maybe they could sort things out.

She wouldn’t let him finish, because someone walked up from behind them, and her attention was directed elsewhere. “And you.”

Seteth turned.

It was Byleth.

“You are no longer allowed to set foot in this church.”

The musician cocked his head, expression blank as if he didn’t hear her. He continued to walk up the stairs, passing Seteth and Flayn, but Rhea held out an arm, blocking the door, and she repeated herself.

“What? You’re joking, right?” He turned to Seteth and Flayn, searching for answers in their eyes, but they seemed just as blown away by all of this as he was. “She’s joking, right?”

“I am not joking.” Slowly, she lowered her arm, and Byleth took some steps back.

People began to file into the church, passing the four of them. Some scowled. Some purposely avoided looking them in their eyes. Some refused to walk past. A crowd was beginning to form. Seteth could feel all of their eyes boring holes into him, and his skin prickled. Every cell in his body was yelling at him to run. _This_ was what he feared most.

But he stood his ground as Rhea continued to address them.

“A youth group minister should not be allowed near _children_ if he’s doing such _filthy_ things with another man,” she said, barely holding back a sneer. “Honestly I should have seen this coming months ago with that first video in the bar.”

Terror squeezed Seteth’s neck with scalding fingers. Humiliation stopped up his throat, blocking airflow.

“And to think I let you--” She said you with a pointed glare towards Byleth-- “near those children during the spring retreat as well. Corrupting not only my brother but those sweet youths--”

Byleth gritted his teeth. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“If you do not leave peacefully, I will call the police.”

“I oughta--” The young man clenched his fist and took a step forward, but Flayn held him at bay with a grip on the strap of his guitar. It was all she could do besides watch.

“Byleth.” 

Seteth’s voice was trembling as he called for him. He couldn’t bear the brunt of all these people sneering at him. Whispering incredulous, _disgusted_ notions to each other behind their hands. He could hear them. Feel their revulsion rise in their chests, hot like vomit. If Rhea said they should go, who was he to refuse? He would be more than happy to vanish from the face of the Earth.

Without waiting for the other two, Seteth pushed through the crowd, lips pressed into a thin line, and retreated into the parking lot.

“Seteth.”

“No.”

_“Seteth.”_

_“No!”_

Byleth wanted to hold him. Keep him steady-- keep his own self steady in the other’s arms. But when he took a step forward, Seteth took two steps back, refusing to be touched, and Byleth understood. This wasn’t how he wanted this to go either.

“Seteth, look at me.”

“I can’t--”

One moment he was tired of hiding Byleth like a secret. The next… he was sick of everyone knowing.

Byleth clicked his tongue and glared at the ground. “What the hell is that supposed to mean anyways? What… what does this have to do with being around children?”

He looked to Flayn, simpering pathetically-- hoping she’d say something, but she was staring at her shoes, awfully interested in the buckles of her Mary Janes. So he looked to Seteth again, who was starting to breathe a little heavily as realization set in. Church may not have meant something to Byleth, but it sure as Hell meant something to him. Seteth may not have been banned from St. Indech’s, but how was he supposed to face anyone there again?

“Seteth, c’mon, baby--”

“ _Don’t_ call me that!”

“Tell me what’s so wrong with us.”

Seteth couldn’t answer that even if he knew.

“Is… is being gay just inherently sexual and not safe for children?”

For Seteth, hearing the word felt… dirty. He felt dirty. Dirty, like the dull ache in his hips and between his legs. He wasn’t… He couldn’t be….

“Can’t two men just love each other?”

Seteth inhaled sharply. He looked up, eyes blown wide. 

_**Love?** _

“Or am I… Am I wrong about this whole thing?” 

Byleth gave a shaky laugh, but he knew. He saw it in Seteth. Recognized the shame in his face as if it were his own. He took two staggering steps back. The distance between them grew desolate and large.

“Oh.”

He laughed again, running his hands through his mint hair.

“I’m wrong, aren’t I?”

Seteth didn’t have it in him to answer. He was too hurt. Too betrayed. His entire world had just been flipped upside down and shattered and he couldn’t trust himself to say what he wanted to. So he didn’t say anything.

“I gotta… I gotta go.”

“Byleth--” Flayn attempted to reach for him as he left but she couldn’t reach him this time. She watched as he hastily clipped on his helmet, kickstarted his bike, and rode out of the parking lot. She looked to her father, who had slid into the front seat of their car and rested his head in his hands. Dutifully, she climbed into the passenger seat.

Seteth holed himself away in his room when they got home, and Flayn did the same. She sat herself down on her bed and frantically pulled up the group chat.

**Flayn, 10:14** 「 guys I think I screwed up 」

**Caspar, 10:15** 「 another bad tiktok ? XD 」

**Flayn, 10:15** 「 no i think i just outed my dad 」

**Linhardt, 10:15** 「 lol 」

**Linhardt, 10:15** 「 oh shit not lol what happened 」

**Flayn, 10:16** 「 byleth posted this video on youtube of him singing 」

**Flayn, 10:16** 「 and my dad's in it… 」

**Caspar, 10:17** 「 …? 」

**Caspar, 10:17** 「 so ? 」

**Flayn, 10:18** 「 i shared it on facebook and i think auntie rhea saw it 」

**Flayn, 10:19** 「 guys i’m freaking out byleth got banned from st. indech’s and dad’s no longer allowed to teach sunday school 」

**Flayn, 10:21** 「 guys?????? 」

**Linhardt, 10:23** 「 i just saw it 」

**Caspar, 10:24** 「 yall still use facebook???? 」

**Caspar, 10:24** 「 wait im confused what's so bad about this video ??? 」

**Flayn, 10:25** 「 byleth kisses my dad at the end of it 」

**Flayn, 10:25** 「 my dad’s like. asleep in his bed next to him. 」

**Flayn, 10:25** 「 im gonna kms ;;m;; 」

**Caspar, 10:25** 「 oh shit really ????? 」

**Flayn, 10:26** 「 sent a link 」

**Linhardt, 10:26** 「 how could you forget ur friends w ur own aunt on facebook 」

**Flayn, 10:26** 「 i just thought it wouldve been nice to let my friends see!!!!! 」

**Linhardt, 10:26** 「 so what now? 」

**Flayn, 10:27** 「 auntie rhea almost called the cops on byleth 」

**Linhardt, 20:27** 「 GKSJGJSHFJ NO WAY」

**Flayn, 10:27** 「 and then my dad and him had this giant fight in the parking lot 」

**Linhardt, 10:27** 「 i wish i went to church today lmao the drama 」

**Caspar, 10:28** 「 guys im trying to watch this video stfu for a sec >:/ 」

Flayn took a second to pause. Her hands were shaking violently. She put her phone down and paced around her room, fingers tensely gripped around the hem of her dress. She circled around the three sides of her bed, counting the seashells in her comforter until she could breathe again. Her phone buzzed a few times as she forced herself to calm down but she ignored it.

Her reflection in her desk vanity caught her eye.

Upon seeing herself, the girl burst into tears.

_Was this her fault?_

What was to happen of her father, who loved leading Bible study so much? Who loved the children at church? Who… maybe didn’t love Byleth after all…?

For a moment, Flayn was hopeful that things would turn out alright. They could work this out. Byleth was tough. He held his head high. Kept his shoulders square. He probably would have punched Rhea in the nose if she didn’t stop him.

But the pain that shone in his eyes when Seteth could not respond to his affections… it led her to believe he wasn’t as strong as she believed him to be. It wasn’t a wound he could ignore. One hit, and it was all it took. 

What would happen to him?

Flayn didn’t realize she was sobbing as loudly as she was until her father, alarmed, entered her room and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Flayn? Flayn, what’s wrong?”

She couldn’t force any words out of herself. She simply cried as her father pulled her against his chest and petted her hair. She felt like a traitor. All this time, she had been rooting for them. Hoping and praying for… for something good to happen. She betrayed them. This happened because of her. She didn’t deserve to be comforted like this. If only she didn’t post that stupid video…!

“Flayn, are you hurt? What happened?” He was beginning to get worried. He found her standing in the middle of her room simply wailing with her arms around herself.

“I’m sorry, papa,” she stammered as Seteth peeled curls off her tear-soaked cheeks. “I-I put the video on Facebook and th-that’s how Auntie Rhea saw it.”

“Shh…” He shook his head and lifted her. His sweet daughter was so small; when settled in his lap on the edge of her bed, she felt like she weighed next to nothing. He wiped her face with his sleeve, though the fine cotton was awkward and inconducive for absorbing any of her tears so it just made the rest of her cheeks damp. In the moment, Seteth couldn’t care less about any damn video or Rhea or Byleth. Flayn and what made her so upset were the only things that mattered to him.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whimpered, scrubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.

“It’s not your fault.” Seteth told her and he meant it.

“Yes, it is! Yes, it is!”

He only shook his head again. He didn’t say anything. Just held her close and waited for her to calm down. There was no point in talking to her if she was so upset.

It took a few minutes, but Flayn finally quieted down to a few hiccups here and there.

“Go change into your pajamas, okay?” He lifted her off his lap and set her on her feet. “I’ll make pancakes. We’ll stay inside and watch movies. Does that sound good?”

Flayn couldn't argue. That sounded a whole lot better than bawling her eyes out. Seteth kissed her forehead and she just nodded as she headed to her closet. 

Back into her loungewear, she laid herself in bed on her stomach and picked her phone back up. There were about 500 unread messages blinking back at her.

**Caspar, 10:29** 「 goddammit now i owe lin 50 bucks >:((((( 」

**Linhardt, 10:30** 「 we’ve literally been knew tho 」

**Linhardt, 10:30** 「 it’s your fault you didn’t back out of the bet even after the retreat ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 」

Flayn sniffled and snorted, scrolling through the wall of texts they’d left her when she went AFK. She skipped over most of it until she hit the bottom.

**Linhardt, 10:45** 「 wait where’d flayn go 」

**Caspar, 10:46** 「 OH MY GOD WHERE IS SHE 」

**Caspar, 10:46** 「 FLAYN ARE YOU GOOD 」

**Caspar, 10:46** 「 FLAYN ANSWER OR ILL COME OVER THERE 」

**Caspar, 10:47** 「 FLAYN DONT KYS 」

**Caspar, 10:47** 「 Lin get ready im gonna pick you up」

**Linhardt, 10:48** 「 i am literally so sick rn you dumbass 」

**Caspar, 10:49** 「 you have five minutes bc i’m going ✈️ 」

**Linhardt, 10:50** 「 i fucking hate you 」

She hastily typed out a reply before they did anything brash, but the doorbell rang before she could send it.

\---

Flayn nestled into Seteth's side on the couch. Caspar was on the floor, finishing off a plate of cold leftover pancakes over the coffee table, and Linhardt was banished to his own recliner far off to the side. He was bundled up in blankets, napping off his cold while the rest of them watched Tangled, which was Caspar's choice. Flayn's pick of The Little Mermaid was next. She stretched and yawned. 

The sun was setting, sinking their living room into shifting shades of yellow to orange to red and soon enough to a kind blue. The light of the television burned their eyes, but it was a welcome burn, much better than crying.

The mess of the morning seemed so far away-- almost forgotten completely until Flayn spoke for the first time in a while.

“I’m sorry, papa,” she said, deathly quiet. Her voice quivered, threatening to break. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said again with a kiss to the crown of her head. 

It was unfair of him to have her shoulder his secret too. They’d never spoken about their relationship-- not in so many words, at least, but he knew she knew. Caspar and Linhardt knew too, apparently, as per the former sliding the latter a handful of crumpled bills from his pocket over breakfast earlier. He was grateful for their discretion thus so far.

“If anything it’s that idiot Byleth’s fault for posting it to YouTube for all the world to see in the first place.” This was said with a scowl, which made Flayn worry her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Don't say that," she berated him. "He likes you a lot…."

Seteth rested his head on the back of the couch, staring straight up at the ceiling. "I know. I know."

"I bet… I bet if we just talked to Auntie Rhea… I think we all just need to calm down, and understand each other's feelings." She pulled her legs under her and rose a little to keep eye contact. Seteth tended to look away when he was troubled-- at the ground, a wall, his shoes. It helped him think to focus on something else, but it wasn't what he needed right now. He needed to listen to her.

"He really likes you," she said again. She was avoiding the other L word for now.

"I know."

"And you really like him."

"...I know."

“Papa, I think you should say sorry.”

Her father sighed, and from the looks of it was about to concur with the idea when the doorbell rang again. He rose from his seat to answer it, looking back at Flayn.

“You didn’t invite any of your other friends over, did you?”

She didn’t have any other friends besides the two already on their couches.

Byleth was on their front porch, hands shoved in his jean pockets, helmet under one arm. His eyes wouldn’t meet Seteth’s when he opened the door. 

“Uh, hey, Seteth--”

“What’re you--”

They spoke at the same time, and Seteth gave him a nod to go first.

“I… I just wanted to stop by first before I… left.” 

“Where are you going?”

“I…”

Byleth pushed his fingers through his freshly-dyed fringe. It was obvious he was struggling to say what he wanted to say, and in that moment Seteth saw Byleth’s motorcycle behind him. It was still running, and bags and boxes were roped to the back of it. It was obvious he was leaving and he was leaving _soon._

“Look, Seteth. I gotta go. I dunno where, but I can’t stay here. I dunno why I thought I could but….”

Seteth stood there, mouth slightly agape. For all the words racing around his head, he couldn’t pick a single one to say.

“Remember back then… at The Pit Stop? You asked me why I came back, and I told you I didn’t know?”

He remembered. Somehow he managed a nod.

“I still don’t know why I came back.” Byleth smiled crookedly at a potted flower by the door. He looked up, and his eyes were _empty._ “But you were the reason I stayed.”

The younger man took Seteth’s hand, and for a stupidly hopeful second, Seteth thought maybe he’d still stay. But his fingers didn’t curl around Byleth’s, and Byleth's didn't grasp his. Didn’t hold on. Instead something was pressed into his open palm.

“Here. Sorry, it’s wrinkled. But I figured you’d still want it anyways.”

It was his tie. The deep blue one with golden hand-stitched diamonds. The one he left in his room above the bar, when this all started so many months ago, and now it was back again, just as it was ending.

Seteth’s mouth moved, which was half the process of forming a word-- half the doubtlessly arduous process of begging Byleth to reconsider, tell him they could work this out and apologize but no sound came out.

“Byleth, don’t go,” Flayn tearfully said in his place.

Her father turned to look at her, surprised at her sudden appearance. How long had she been there? When he turned back around, Byleth was already halfway across their lawn, making his way to his Harley.

“You call me if you ever need anything, okay, puff?” He was walking backwards, and on the very last step, he pivoted, tugged on his helmet, concealing his face, and swung a leg over his bike.

And just like that, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D see y'all next tuesday


	10. when i pretended with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lot of things change in two years, and a lot of things don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [someone who loves me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmOoUOCVOnk) by sara bareilles

Seteth sat back down on the dock. He handed Flayn a chilled bottle of Sprite and rolled his sleeves back up before readying his fishing pole again.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” He asked her, casting his line out to the sea.

She gestured to him as she finished sipping from her soda. “I thought we were gonna cook some fish.”

“We haven’t had any luck with it today,” he said, stating the obvious. He motioned to their empty cooler.

“Maybe it’s your attitude, papa,” the young woman said with a giggle. 

So she said, but whenever they fished, they did without bait, and Seteth sincerely doubted they’d start getting different results just because he thought more positive thoughts. They were never interested in catching anything to begin with. They'd come to the beach simply to pray and meditate, all in honor of Flayn's mother, who so loved the sea she had her ashes scattered in it from the very dock they had parked themselves on.

This was her…

Seteth counted in his head.

This was her seventh year gone.

Flayn had just finished her second year of nursing school and Seteth his first as psychology head at Garreg Mach. Flayn had gone away to her first choice, and her father let her. They both thought it best that she went away, so she could go to church again. So she could go out and not have people look at her with scorn or pity. Linhardt and Caspar left too-- the former with an anthropology scholarship and the latter with a wrestling one. Jeralt’s shop closed down, and no one in town seemed to keep tabs on where he went after. Manuela found the love of her life (“Honest to God, Seteth, he really is the one!”). Her prince charming had a startup way west, and so Mittelfrank’s closed its doors for the last time a few months prior.

That last bit really cemented the fact that Seteth would never again see the room above the bar, with those poster and polaroid plastered walls or the plants hanging precariously from the slanted ceiling. Or the beat up U-haul boxes of clothes in the corner, the fairy lights, or the mattress on the floor….

This was the second year Byleth was gone.

No one had rented it since he left, and once… _Just once,_ Seteth promised himself, he went back to visit it. It was obvious he left in a hurry. The posters and string lights still hung from the walls, and the mattress still had the fitted sheet around it. The plants had withered into crisp little husks in their pots. Whatever Byleth deemed a necessity he fit on the back of his Harley and he took with him. There was one box left standing, and inside it was an old shirt, sheltered from the dust. 

Seteth hoped maybe-- just maybe by some romantic twist of fate, Byleth would still be there, tuning his guitar on the floor. Maybe he’d look up and smile his stupid crooked smile, pat the ground beside him and invite him to sit. Listen for a while.

But the only thing there was a tattered and faded t-shirt left forgotten in a banged up U-Haul box, quickly losing its scent against Seteth’s face as he breathed it in. 

Seteth had grown older. More tired. More quiet. 

Flayn did most of the talking for him, speaking out into the ocean. She wanted to make sure her mother was caught up on their life. 

“Clinicals are going okay, I guess,” she said, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “I really like taking care of babies…” Her face contorted into a tight-lipped expression, ear pressed to her shoulder. “Geriatrics not so much… But I’m trying, mama! Honest!”

Her mother had died during the summer, surrounded by flowers in full bloom in the embrace of the sun-- the same sun that beat down on them on the dock. The wind was stagnant, and only the salty spray of the waves that flecked against their cheeks offered a cool reprieve. Seteth looked out over the water, listening to it crash around the legs of the pier. Listened to Flayn conversing with someone who was only there in spirit.

It was the first day of their weekend on the coast. They had driven up earlier that morning, cruised past their old house. It hadn’t changed much, except the roses in the front had been dug up and replaced with a stone garden, and a fence had popped up around it, closing them off from it.

It made Seteth’s chest squeeze painfully.

He had the same reaction to the sight of tan Chevy trucks on the road and the sound of the trumpets in Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You. Reminders of something that were great once, but… no longer his.

The next day, Sunday, they’d go to church at their old parish, where no one knew their business anymore. Barely remembered their faces. 

Seteth hadn’t gone to mass in a while. He still couldn’t face his sister or that congregation at St. Indech's. He wasn’t strong enough to push past how badly they'd hurt him, and in his pain he found common ground with Byleth. Understood his struggle wanting to have some anchor in a higher being up in the sky but not on the ground. Envied him a little too, because he was able to run away from it all. The small town with tidy little lawns and a 6 o'clock curfew became ever smaller.

Seteth kept dragging himself to the present. It was hard to keep his mind from drifting, but he didn't have much to say. He didn't have much going on for himself besides teaching and moping about Byleth. There were better things to talk about to your dead wife than your gay ex-lover… Former friend with benefits… boyfriend person.

Even two years later, he still couldn't figure out what Byleth meant to him, but he missed him terribly. 

Flayn knew this more than anyone-- maybe even more than Seteth knew himself.

Even two years later, she harbored an immense sense of guilt.

Not a day went by without her wishing they could do it all over again. Wishing she didn't see Byleth's video on YouTube and wishing she didn't take the steps to copy the link and share it to Facebook. Wishing she'd kept it to herself.

But… Byleth sang so handsomely and the scene was so _tender_ … She couldn't help it.

There he sat in his room, under the gentle yellow glow of fairy lights, Seteth dozing peacefully behind him. Flayn wished she could name all the bands on the posters behind him, or discern what memories he was preserving in the polaroids tacked to the dark walls. Wished he'd tell her as he sat on their couch again and helped her muddle through the chords in the song. They'd laugh as patiently corrected her.

But Byleth was no longer with them, and she only had this video of him to pretend with.

" _Could I rest here for a while, near that medal round your neck? St. Jude's wearin' a smile. He wouldn't mind, I bet._ "

His voice was soft in the low light of his bedroom above the bar, as quiet as the world outside and just as pure. 

" _I can't go face the world-- my bones won't hold me up, so tell the saint of lost souls where to find me: softly sleepin' here in the deep end of someone who loves me._ "

Seteth never saw the video, or at least if he did, he never told her.

Flayn wondered how he would react if he ever watched it. What would he think?

Would he see the curl in Byleth's lips as he sang? The gentle sway of his head or the bounce of his foot to the rhythm? Would he listen to these lyrics and know a little too late that he needed Byleth just as much as Byleth needed him back then? Did he understand that Byleth was someone who loved him? Would he think Byleth was a fool for thinking he was someone who loved him in return?

In the video, one could see the sun begin to peek into the room, and the walls went from purple to red to orange to a kind, yellow white. Byleth was glowing. Angelic and so, so sure of the truth he was singing.

" _Surrender's just a word, until you try it out and see how hard it is to hurt with someone else around. I'm the worst I've ever been, afraid of almost everything. The skies are clear but storms are always coming._ "

He seemed so vulnerable, as he poured his heart out to a man that didn't hear him, and probably never will. Flayn's heart always ached when she watched him open his eyes and turn to the sleeping man before him-- someone who loved him.

" _Your gift to me is just to be bracing for the winds I always summon._ "

It sounded like he was apologizing. Like he knew change was coming and it wasn't good. Like he knew some idiot high school senior girl would put his video on Facebook and get him banned from church.

But at the same time his tone was… grateful. Like he was thanking Seteth for sticking through it thus so far, and for whatever else they'd face together in the future he saw in his head. A future that didn't come to pass.

" _My home, my heart. Thank God you are... someone who loves me._ "

After his final chord died out, Byleth set his guitar aside and was about to kill the camera when Seteth wrinkled his nose and began to stir beside him. Byleth leaned over, combed hair away from Seteth's face, and planted a kiss on his cheek. The video faded out from there.

Betrayed with a kiss, but in reverse.

In her free time, Flayn would still go back to his channel, just to hear his voice again. She'd play back his old videos-- the covers and his originals from way before she’d met him. Poor quality phone camera videos from all over the country. He'd sung on beaches and mountaintops, forests and bars. City squares and abandoned buildings. It was always just him, his bike, and his guitar. There were a lot more professionally mixed songs now on the channel since he had the money for it as well a steadily growing curve of fans and subscribers-- a good 2.2 million of them and counting.

The video that pretty much ruined her father’s life remade Byleth’s.

She could pretty much trace where that video went once it was out of her hands. It circulated around her high school first-- with her mean, small-minded high schoolmates mostly jeering at it-- and then around the University. The college kids were much kinder to Byleth and her father. They appreciated Byleth's talent. The love he had for Seteth and his song. That mixed with the rumor that they'd faced some horrible discrimination at the hands of the church…

Well, it was more than a rumor, since it was true.

The video went farther than their little town. Farther than the university and its tall, ivy-covered walls. Past the mountains that cut them off from the rest of the world. From one person to another with its views and likes snowballing, until it reached someone high up, and Byleth landed himself a deal.

He wrote songs. Got a new band. Re-recorded old songs. Posted them.

Byleth left little notes in the descriptions of his videos-- right at the bottom, past the block of credits and copyright notices and names of producers and sound mixers and recording studios.

“Happy birthday, puff!”

“Merry Christmas, puff!”

“Study hard, puff!”

“I miss your cooking, puff.”

A number of fans had noticed, and there were a few conspiracy theories that popped up concerning this mysterious _puff_ , but Flayn knew they were for her. It made her feel warm inside, knowing she wasn't forgotten. Assuming she was forgiven.

"He released an album with his new band, you know," Flayn said to the ocean. "It’s called ‘The Crows You Piss Off.’ Isn't that funny? I wonder what it means." 

Seteth blinked, tearing his gaze away from the bob of his fishing float to look at his daughter. "Who?"

But she wouldn't answer him. She was talking to her mother, giggling softly. "I dunno if you'd like it but it's pretty good!"

Seteth pursed his lips and looked back to the water, forcing his expression to remain flat. Disinterested.

“You remember him, right? Byleth? I’ve talked about him a couple times before.”

Seteth’s chest squeezed at just the sound of his name.

“He’s got a concert in the area tomorrow.”

Flayn didn’t miss it when Seteth’s head perked up just a little. He straightened up a little beside her. So much for staying disinterested. 

“Yeah,” Flayn drawled, leaning back on her hands and looking up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight. Just bright, bright sunshine. She squinted against it, purposely not looking at her father. “I wanted to go, but… I dunno, mama. Do you think papa would let me go? No? You don’t think it’s my type of crowd? I am a fully grown woman now, mama! I can very much handle a concert.”

The man didn’t say anything, hands taut around his fishing pole and lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Yeah, it’s at The Enbarr. Starts at 8 tomorrow night.”

Only then did she glance at her father, and he stared her down. She knew he knew what she was doing.

Flayn grinned innocently. “I don’t think I’ll go though.”

\---

Seteth was anxious.

He didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t even know what he was doing there. He told Flayn he was just going out for a walk, but then the walk turned into a drive, and now he was herding himself into a corner of the Enbarr, a fluorescent green band wrapped around his wrist that read “21+, 1 free drink.”

The Enbarr was a medium sized venue on the other side of the city. It was an old vaudeville theater turned bar outfitted with new sound tech and lights, tall ceilings and an open floor, and a decent stage. He remembered going there, once, when he was younger and stupider and he wanted to take his wife (then girlfriend) to see a singer he couldn’t stand but she adored. She told him she wouldn’t go without him, but he knew she would have, so he came to keep an eye on her. They were underaged. She was always so adventurous.

At this point in time, he wished he could have some of her courage. 

People milled about as the hall became fuller and fuller, pressing closer to the stage. The audience was making out to be kids in their early twenties, dressed head to toe in black, piercings and tattoos left and right. The stench of weed in the air made his head spin. 

He felt out of place, a spry 40 year old still dressed in his Sunday best, slacks, penny loafers, and a pressed button-up.

The bar was open, and Seteth made his way over to make good on his one free drink. Lord knew he needed it. The bartender gave him a look, silently asking him what the hell he was doing there, and he shook his head. He didn’t know either. They gave him two beers on the house-- out of pity probably. He looked like a dad that was dragged there against his will. 

Seteth took a long pull from a bottle as he made his way back to his corner, and gave the second to some lucky rebel teen who was clearly under drinking age.

The lights dimmed. The crowd roared, and Seteth’s heart leapt into his throat.

It was only the opening act-- some brother-sister duet that was definitely not Byleth. He missed their introduction over the noise.

Byleth’s band was called Divine Pulse, according to the minimalistic posters along the wall. They had a list of tour dates and venues underneath the design of the tattoo Byleth had on his forearm. Seteth thought the name was stupid.

This was all stupid.

He didn’t know what he was going to get out of this. He didn’t know what he _wanted_ to get out of this. All he was getting so far was anxious and bumped into by delinquents even in the safety of his corner.

It wasn’t as if he was going to see Byleth personally. It wasn’t as if he was going to throw himself into his arms and hold him and be held in return. It wasn’t as if going to this show was going to turn back the hands of time and give him the second chance to do it right-- whatever that meant.

“I should go home,” Seteth said to no one. He could barely even hear himself speak.

But Byleth was so close. He was right there, in that building. He could picture him, backstage, tapping his Converse idly as he tuned his guitar. Maybe he’d traded in his old one for a nicer one or scraped off all the stickers at least. Maybe he’d still have the same stupid leather jacket, with its scuffs just a little deeper at the elbows. 

A lot had happened in two years.

Did he still like his whiskey neat? Did he ever bother to learn the names of the states he traveled through? Did he have another lover? Someone who loved him back and wasn’t ashamed to tell him?

Seteth’s stomach flipped, revolting at the thought.

Byleth deserved as much, anyways, even if Seteth hadn’t moved on. 

“I should go home,” he said again into his half-empty beer bottle.

He made a move to, but the path to the door was blocked by bodies-- warm and bustling and loud. When did it get so crowded? Why wouldn’t anyone listen to him ask to push past? Could they hear him? What was the name of this opening act? Where was the exit? The floor? The ceiling?

It all began to blur together into a shifting, flashing, noisy, people-muddled mush. Inside his head was just music, tangled with the rush of his heartbeat, throbbing, racing, _dying_. Oh, god, he's _dying._

Seteth didn't belong there. He didn't have the right to be there. He didn't love Byleth in the same way as all these other fans did. These people… kept up with Byleth's life and supported him. Learned his last name at the same time as they learned his first. Didn't turn their backs on him when he needed them.

His breath hitched, caught in his throat, stuck. He was unable to inhale. To exhale. To breathe. He was panicking. _Dying._ This was a bad idea. Pointless. Stupid.

He wanted to be home. He wanted to curl up in bed and stay there, but where was the _goddamn door?_

It was as if he could feel every strand of hair brush against his face. Something itched underneath his skin. His cuffs around his wrists chafed and the tie around his neck felt like a noose. At least a noose would put him out of his misery. 

He curled into himself, and it felt like hours had passed with him stuck that way-- a speck riding the wave after wave of nauseating anxiety, the roar of his blood and breath coursing through him emulating the unrelenting, endless tide of the sea.

The lights shut off.

The flashing, convulsing mass of people and piercings and tattoos vanished before his eyes, swallowed up into a blackness and spit back out into one, focused point of light, raining down on the stage.

It was Byleth.

It really was Byleth.

There were a few more piercings in his ears, and his nails were painted black. His hair was longer, gathered into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, dark at the roots and mint green at the ends. A new leather jacket. The same guitar, with a few new stickers from his travels.

In two years, a lot of things changed and a lot hadn't.

Seteth thought he was going to throw up.

There was no way he was making it to the door, so he gave up on that, and retreated back into his little corner. The spot where the walls met embraced him, supporting his back. 

" _Oh, baby,_ " Byleth crooned into the microphone, holding the note as the crowd fell into an awed hush.

Seteth was transported back to Mitterlfrank’s. The spotlights played off Byleth's cheeks and hair in that perfect way. He missed the bar. He missed their Saturday nights, spent with whiskey on their breath and tongues, smoke and laughter in the air. Byleth’s hand on his thigh under the counter, thumbing the seam in his pants as they talked. _One look from you, and I’m on that faded love._

The former youth pastor blinked, forcing himself back to The Enbarr. 

The song began slow and romantic, but it wasn’t Heaven’s Gate. 

" _Bleed your ink into me, darling paper fortress._ "

His voice was the same. Warm and strong.

Seteth's heart roared a little less loudly in his ears, and he could feel his fingers again.

A keyboardist played in the darkness behind him while he strummed and sang. 

Seteth missed his voice.

Byleth looked so good with a microphone in his hand. So natural. He seemed so comfortable on that stage-- like he had never been more happy than to be the center of attention, twirling the mic cable around himself as he danced around.

Seteth didn’t even notice when he was able to breathe again. His grip around the neck of his beer loosened, and his knuckles ached from being so tense for so long. 

The song ended, and the audience broke into rowdy applause, as if the spell that rendered them speechless was broken.

“How’re we all doing tonight?”

A cheer.

Byleth shook his head. “I know you guys can do better than that.”

An even louder cheer.

Seteth shrunk, sensitive to the noise. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” He grinned, and the expression was almost kind but Seteth knew better. It was cocky and self-satisfied. He tugged on the collar of his classic white t-shirt. “It’s hot as hell in here, damn.”

Someone in the audience yelled, “Strip!”

“Fuck no, you weirdo.”

Seteth missed how brightly Byleth could smile. Even at the opposite end of the venue, he could see him just glowing.

He deserved it.

He deserved these adoring fans and the spotlight. Deserved to be touring across the country in a nice bus instead of hotel-hopping with his motorcycle. 

He deserved to be free of their tiny town and the church that hated him. He deserved the world.

Seteth polished off his beer and tried to enjoy the show. 

Byleth’s style was… in a word, unique. Not quite country, not quite rock, not quite indie. Upbeat but… sad. He sang a few covers too, considering he was quite the new artist who had little original content to offer. The lyrics in his songs had Seteth picturing long stretches of highway and dusk light refracting off crumbling statues in empty vestibules. The mysteries of depths of the ocean he didn’t know he could imagine, and the intimacy of a messy bedroom, with a mattress on the floor, potted plants hanging from the ceiling, and U-haul boxes in the corner.

The world Byleth had gone out and seen for himself-- the world he had built for himself was so much bigger than Seteth. 

This was where Byleth belonged. This was what he deserved.

Seteth continued to repeat that to himself. He tried to convince himself that this was better. He didn’t need Byleth in his arms. He didn’t need his songs for himself.

And Byleth surely didn’t need Seteth in his arms, and he didn’t need to sing for just him.

Byleth whipped his hair back, pushing his bangs out of his eyes after a particularly energetic number. He seemed to be having the time of his life dancing around with his guitar. His skin gleamed with sweat, and he put the mic back in his stand as he tried to catch his breath.

“We’re gonna take this down a few notches.” The lights went low, plunging The Enbarr into a pool of purple. “I’ve got a special song for you guys-- never sang it ever before.”

Seteth rolled his eyes. "Never sang it before, my ass," he mumbled to himself, covering his ears as the young women around him squealed with joy. He was sure it was just lip service. It was the one thing Byleth was good at.

The little rockstar picked up his old acoustic again. From the odd silence and shuffling on the stage behind him, it was clear this wasn’t in his lineup. Faint, confused whispers came through the microphone’s audio as Byleth’s keyboardist came to consult with him. 

“It’s fine,” he told him with a grin. “It’ll be fine.”

Byleth cleared his throat. “Couple years ago, I went back to my hometown-- little piece of shit village down south. Real cute. Hate it there.” The crowd chuckled in understanding. “And I uh… I met someone.”

Seteth’s chest suddenly felt tight again. 

_No._

“Didn’t work out, of course.” He shook his head, looking at the ground and leaning on his left foot just slightly. He plucked out a few minor chords as he talked. “And I think breakup songs are stupid, so I wrote… this. Which is definitely not a breakup song.” 

“Please don’t,” whispered Seteth, glancing at the door. There was still no way he could get to it.

“ _Amen, amen, amen, _” he crooned, leaning into the mic like he was asking for a kiss. The rest of his band’s voices rose to support him, singing ‘amen’ in a dissonant, haunting round. “ _In the ciborium of a crater, immortal we stood, beneath a baldaquin of starlight in the wood…_ ”__

__Seteth knew this tune. He’d caught Byleth humming it to himself once or twice as he occupied himself with tracing the lines in Seteth’s palms in bed or scrolling through Twitter on his phone. Often he asked him what the song was, and Byleth always replied it was something he was writing in his head. He always got stuck after the first verse, and now here it was, swelling, agonizingly slow and high over Seteth’s head in waves._ _

__Seteth wanted to leave, but he was rooted in place, caught in the current of a memory._ _

__Byleth sighed with a pause in the music before punching into the chorus. “ _Amen, amen, I say to you, I am a good person. But that which is good is not always right..._ ” _ _

__Seteth’s breath left his body in deep, trembling sighs._ _

__“ _So was I not right for you?_ ”_ _

__“Oh, Byleth,” murmured Seteth, and his words were lost to the din around him. Seteth leaned against his corner as he whispered that, tilting his head back. He felt heavy._ _

__“ _Old St. Paul tells me if I have not love, I'm but a loud gong, but I gave all mine to you, so where'd I go wrong?_ ” _ _

__It wasn't his fault._ _

__He wanted to apologize, but he didn't know how. He couldn't find the words, or the chance._ _

__This was so unfair to Byleth, who swore he was a good person._ _

__“ _But that which is good, is not always right, so was I not right for you?_ ”_ _

___Amen, amen,_ sang Divine Pulse around him, building into the refrain._ _

__" _And in that ciborium of a crater, beneath that baldachin of stars… I tossed rocks at your God._ "_ _

__Byleth was singing so sweetly, so why did it sound like he was yelling at him? He held the word _God_ , crooning it into the microphone, expression contorted into something… mournful and with a hint of disdain._ _

__He looked beautiful, mocking Seteth’s God like that. He had every right to._ _

__" _And I told him my love wasn't wrong._ "_ _

__It was so unfair of Byleth to pull this song on Seteth, just when he was about to content himself with letting him go. Find closure in walking away…._ _

__" _In turn He prophesied, we'd vanish before long._ "_ _

__The chorus faded out, the amen’s coming to an almost abrupt halt, until it was just Byleth’s voice, a contrite whisper drifting from the speakers._ _

__“ _Because we were not whole._ ”_ _

__It was so unfair Seteth had to fall in love all over again like this._ _

__Amen, amen, amen, the band picked up again, howling into the low violet light of The Enbarr, conclusive and final, like the end of a prayer. The key shifted up into a major, saintly and powerful. _Amen, amen, amen....__ _

__Seteth wanted out. He wanted to run from this, just as he always had, but there was nowhere to go. He was literally backed against a corner, forced to face forward, looking at the face of a man he loved so wholly and needed so desperately._ _

__He loved Byleth._ _

__“ _Amen, amen, I say to you, _” Byleth cried into the mic, hands stiffly shifting from chord to chord. He was straining. His expression was tight. “ _I am a righteous person, but that which is right, is not always good._ ”___ _

____Seteth had never hated a prayer more than this one._ _ _ _

_____Amen, amen, amen…._ _ _ _ _

____“ _So was I not good enough for you?_ ” _ _ _ _

____Seteth tore his gaze away, forcing himself to look up at the ceiling. His throat constricted with tears._ _ _ _

____“ _Amen…_ ” Byleth sang, so so sweetly, over and over again, with his voice blending with the rest of the band, singing rounds of long runs of amens, and Seteth listened, hoping the sound would swallow him whole. Make him feel small enough to vanish._ _ _ _

____Then his sweet voice faltered, and Seteth looked._ _ _ _

____Their eyes met, meters apart. Byleth was staring him straight to center. He'd stopped singing._ _ _ _

_____Shit._ _ _ _ _

____The band began to stutter too as their harmony fell apart without the melody until they stopped completely. The crowd mumbled amongst themselves, just as confused._ _ _ _

____Byleth slung his guitar onto his back, and hopped off the stage, his gaze locked on Seteth and his corner. He shoved through the crowd, unable to find the words to ask them to get the fuck out of the way. _Please. **Please.**__ _ _ _

____But his fans worked against him. They thought it was part of the show, and they squealed as they grabbed at him and shoved their phones in his face. He couldn’t see him anymore in the sea of faces and hands and warm bodies, but he pushed through._ _ _ _

____“Please, please let me through-- Guys, please--”_ _ _ _

____By the time he reached the corner of the hall, Seteth was gone._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh? you thought this was gonna be a happy fic??? :) tune in next week to see it all wrap up !!! (don't worry, i have a spin off series in the works too if you want more)
> 
> i got fanart !!!!!  
> thank you to [phoenx](https://twitter.com/phoenx_art) for this [beautiful piece](https://twitter.com/phoenx_art/status/1243065744851488770) !
> 
> and thank u to [mxixa5](https://twitter.com/mxixa5) for [these](https://twitter.com/mxixa5/status/1244008946848927749) [two](https://twitter.com/mxixa5/status/1244058816829952001) !!
> 
> i never thought people would actually like this fic... it's so self-indulgent lol... thank you all so much for the support you give me. i know i dont respond to comments but i read all of them and each of them holds a special place in my heart
> 
> (i also selfishly drew myself some fanart [here](https://twitter.com/plcntagenet/status/1238542680839163905) hehe)


	11. a substitute for your love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _start over again and again, as many times as you can_

Byleth leaned way back in his chair, pushing off the coffee table of his hotel room until he began to tip over. He rocked himself forward before he could fall, and pushed back. Back and forth. Back and forth.

He mumbled into his phone's receiver. "I got it. I got it, whatever--"

"No! You don't _'got it'_! You've got nothing!" His agent prattled on. She was ranting about their contracts, squeezing in about five "Of all the stupid stunts"s and two "We expected better from you"s. Nothing he hadn't heard before.

Apparently he didn't have the greenlight to release that single ahead of its time, which had all the big wigs getting their underwear in knots, but why should Byleth care? It wasn't as if they could _fire him_ or anything. It'd be their loss, and not his. 

Now if Constance could stop clucking at him like a mother hen, maybe he could get dressed and smoke a bowl in peace. He could really use some eggs and bacon too..

The sheets on his bed began to shift. Byleth stopped rocking himself, watching Yuri stir awake with an annoyed grumble at the noise. 

Yuri was his keyboardist.

And Seteth's replacement in bed.

“What’s that sound?”

Byleth gestured to the phone. “It’s Connie.”

He followed him with his eyes as he got up to use the bathroom, scanning his body for any marks he'd left the night before. Yuri was a vain little thing, and they couldn't risk anyone seeing something as scandalous as a hickey on Divine Pulse's second in command.

"Hi, Shady Lady," he crooned as he passed. He pecked Byleth's temple and headed to the toilet.

"Stop calling me that!" Constance's squealing that early in the morning hurt Byleth's ears. "And there are videos everywhere of you hopping off the stage and going all the way to the back of The Enbarr in a daze! Just what were you doing? I'll tell you what you were doing! Whatever you want! As always! You just did whatever you wanted! What if you got hurt? What if you hurt someone else? I’d never hear the end of it!"

"I saw a ghost," Byleth replied coolly. 

He could picture her ringlets shaking as she clicked her tongue on the other side of the line. "Of course you did. A ghost! You're going to blame a ghost for breaching your contract, and _I'm_ the one who has to clean up your mess. Of course!"

“You’ll figure it out though, won’t you, Constance?”

“Of course I will!” She sounded offended that he even had to ask.

“You’re so great, Constance.”

“I know I am!”

The bathroom door reopened, and Byleth watched Yuri stroll back into bed.

“I’m gonna go eat breakfast, okay? Lemme know how it goes.”

He hung up the phone and tossed it onto the coffee table.

“Am I breakfast?” Yuri asked with a gentle purr in his voice. 

Byleth didn’t answer. He simply climbed on top of the other, straddling his slender waist. Yuri’s body was delicate and young, easy to bend over and flip him the other way so he didn’t have to see his face. It wasn’t Seteth’s body, but it was at his disposal.

Their fingers laced together in some mockery of intimacy, and Byleth closed his eyes, tricking himself into thinking he was touching some small town youth group pastor. Pretended the hair he pushed his hand through was green and the neck he nipped at was just a little thicker.

“Byleth,” Yuri sighed, which made imagining him to be someone else a little difficult. His and Seteth’s voice sounded nothing alike. His delicate, piano-playing hands gripped the frontman’s wrist just as he made to remove his boxers.

Half-irate, he grunted a small, “Hm?” against his collarbone.

“That ghost you saw…”

“What about it?”

"Was his name Seteth?"

Byleth's eyes shot open. "How did you--?"

Yuri chuckled. "You've moaned his name quite a few times in the dark."

The singer blushed, sitting back on his heels. "I have?"

"You have."

Silence settled into the room.

“I can’t do this anymore,” said Yuri as he brought himself to sit up. “And I don’t think you can either.”

Byleth bit his lip, looking away in shame. "Sorry."

"Don't make such a long face, pretty boy," sighed Yuri. Byleth wasn’t aware he was making a long face. "I knew it from the get go. Plus, you said so yourself, right? This was all purely physical. Though I can't say I haven't enjoyed this past year with you."

Byleth couldn't look him in the eye anymore, so he lied back down, arms over his face. This past year wasn't fair to Yuri. He just… He needed someone to help him forget for a little while. Give him a push to move on but honestly he couldn't.

"So? What'll you do now?" Yuri asked him as he slid off the bed.

"Now?" Well, since they weren't going to fuck anymore… "Well, I want a joint and actual breakfast."

"No, I mean… he's in the city, right? Your ghost?"

The singer shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe I was just tripping.”

“Sure you were. You wouldn’t have made such a big idiot out of yourself if you were sober.”

"Did I look that bad?"

"Like you'd seen a ghost. All bug-eyed and wobbly." Yuri laughed with his head in their luggage as he searched for fresh underwear. “Your fangirls are probably going crazy with worry over you right now.”

“If only they knew…” Byleth rolled over onto his stomach. Closed his eyes. Maybe he could sleep off his hunger. Forget the night before.

“What? That you don’t swing their way?”

“They’d probably lose their fucking minds if they found out.”

“Yeah, and then they'd shout from the rooftops that all their nasty fanfiction about us came true.”

“Hasn’t it already?”

Yuri chuckled. He’d made his way to the mini-fridge and rummaged through the seriously overpriced bottles of water until his hand hit some orange juice. Now if only they had champagne, they could make mimosas. They’d already drunk all the hard liquor the night prior, so there was only beer left, and those definitely did not mix with orange juice. 

“What’s he like?”

“Hm?”

“Your ghost. What’s he like?”

Byleth had to think about that. Two years had passed in the blink of an eye, and yet… so much had happened. His mind was clouded with images of Seteth’s helpless smile. He always smiled like he didn’t want to, but sometimes the facade cracked and he could see his light shine through when he let a chuckle loose. He thought of how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, and the dimples in his cheeks. He thought of his pressed shirts, and how they smelled like his stupid compact car, baked in the sun, and printer ink from his work. He thought of the little hairs on his chin and arms and tummy and the deep lines in his palms….

But he couldn’t tell Yuri any of that with a straight face.

“He’s an asshole,” said Byleth plainly. “And a nerd. He listens to too much ABBA and he's never shaved a day in his life. He's got a stupid beard and a fishing lure collection. He read Bible verses to kids on the weekend, and he broke my goddamn heart.”

“You have a heart?” The keyboardist scoffed at him. 

“Can’t break one if I don’t have one.”

“And because he broke your heart, you wrote that song for him, didn’t you?”

“I wrote it _about_ him.” Byleth wrote his songs for _himself._

"Yeah? You never even told us what it's called."

He paused, because he didn't know if he wanted to tell him. "...Serendipity." 

"Interesting. Do you know what that word even means?"

"It means something to me." To Byleth it was the name of a memory he’d rather forget. A series of memories he’d been running from for two years.

“Yeah, but do you know what it means to the rest of the world?”

“Not really.” He thought it was related to the word “serene.” Peaceful. Calm.

"It comes from a book from the 18th century.” Yuri sat himself down at the foot of the bed, drinking orange juice straight from the carton. “These princes of Serendip went on a journey, discovering things about the world.” He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. It was a little too early to be remembering his high school English classes. “I don’t remember most of it, but… the point was that they made a whole bunch of these discoveries by accident, and thus ‘serendipity’ was born.”

Byleth failed English, so he asked him what exactly he was getting at.

“A serendipity is something that happened by chance, usually because of a happy circumstance. It means something that happened because of luck.”

“And you know all about luck, don’t you, Yuri?”

“Listen, all I’m saying is…” Yuri turned around, giving Byleth a pointed stare. “Whether you think you met him just because, or you think maybe _God_ brought you together… you’re glad to have met him, aren’t you?”

Byleth stiffened. 

He remembered Seteth asking him why he came back, and how he half-assedly replied with, “Fate?” More of a question than an answer, really.

Serendipity.

Maybe that’s what this was.

His getting tired of being on the road all the time and coming home. Perhaps that was a serendipity. His meeting Seteth on a random Wednesday and every Wednesday after that. Perhaps that was a serendipity too. Getting to kiss Seteth after getting stupidly drunk that first time. That too. Simply… _being_ in his life.

The natural order of one thing happening after another, leading to a happy discovery.

Serendipity.

Byleth rolled the word around his head. It felt like putting a face to a name. Hearing so much about someone and then finally meeting them.

“So what’re you gonna do?” Yuri asked him again.

Byleth glanced at the clock on the wall. His ponytail slid off his bare back and over his shoulder, and his bangs tickled his cheeks. It was Monday. Just barely eight thirty. Checkout for most hotels was at eleven. Noon, if he was lucky. 

He could make this work.

“Well, first, I’ll need a haircut.”

\---

Seteth had grown awfully quiet in the past twelve hours.

It was a scary, boiling angry sort of quiet. A “ _don’t touch the doorknob in a house fire because you don’t know what’s on the other side_ ” sort of quiet. 

Flayn was awake when her father came back from his “walk”-- though she knew where he went. He’d left his laptop open on TicketMaster when he left.

The headlights from the Honda shone through their motel’s windows for a couple minutes, and Flayn wondered what was keeping him. She was about to stop pretending to be asleep and actually drift off when he finally dragged himself through the door. She sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Papa..?”

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Seteth told her as he trudged to his bed. It sounded like he had been crying. He kicked off his loafers and slid into bed, still in his clothes.

When Flayn wormed under the sheets beside him, he didn’t stop her. His clothes smelled like sweat and alcohol and weed, but she simply held him tighter and listened to him hold his breath. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale, shaking and quivering. Inhale. Hold… Exhale.

This time of the year usually made him this way, but this time around seemed especially hard on him. Flayn was the only one he had left.

In the morning, Flayn used the kitchenette to make breakfast, while he slept in. She fixed up pancakes, because no one could be sad with pancakes.

She waited for her father to wake up, so their breakfast cooled on the counter while she packed up. 

He didn’t wake up for a while.

Flayn checked the time on her phone and decided to go for a walk. It was their last day on the coast. She might as well make the best of it.

Their motel was situated right on the beach, and their room on the ground floor had a back door to a path to the water. It wasn't exactly the Ritz, but it was quiet and affordable for a weekend excursion. Flayn and Seteth spent most of their time fishing or taking walks and finding things to do outside anyways. She plugged her earbuds in her phone and popped one into her ear. 

“Hey, Mama?” She said, strolling with her hands behind her back. The sky was light and still unrelentlessly clear of clouds, and the sun and humidity wrapped around her shoulders like a weighted blanket. She couldn’t wait to get back to the cooler air in the mountains. “When you left, it took Papa so long to look happy again. I mean, sure he smiles and everything but….”

Flayn sighed as she pried off her sneakers and socks. She didn’t know what she was saying. Was she praying that Seteth would get over Byleth? Why was she comparing her mother’s death to a bad breakup? Death was permanent. Her mother would never come back. So why was her father taking so long to cheer up? Was it because he too had some foolish hope inside him that Byleth would come back to them? The chances were so slim that they'd ever even see each other gain, but sometimes it hurt more to cling on to such frail specks of hope even after being disappointed time after time.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought, and tossed her shoes into the sand before heading for the water. She weaved back and forth on the shore, following the tide as it rushed forward and receded. She collected shiny shells as she went.

A smile lifted her lips as a familiar song came on shuffle and she sang along to the intro. Gentle horns and the tap of high hats. It was her parents’ song. Her song. Byleth’s song. 

_You’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you._

_Their_ song.

This song was so heavy with memories of a time that had come to pass, and she missed it all. She missed retreats. She missed leading morning prayer and she missed going to church. She missed her dad. She missed her dad being happy. She missed Byleth. She missed her dad being happy with Byleth.

Flayn had all the videos and pictures from her last retreat backed up on her computer. They all looked so happy together in the hall doing arts and crafts and lounging by the lake under the shade of a tree… 

_There are no words left to speak, but if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it’s real.  
You’re just too good to be true. Can’t take my eyes off of you._

“Baa da, baa da, baa da pa ba~” She giggled to herself and played hopskotch to the rhythm. Water and mud splashed at her jeans, but she didn’t mind. She was immersing herself in a memory.

A memory where her hair whipped around her face as the truck sped down a highway, laden with camping supplies. Byleth and Seteth’s hands were intertwined over the center console of the truck and they all belted this song at the top of their lungs. 

Flayn turned to the horizon, threw her head back, and sang as loudly as she could, if only to chase the feeling of that day in the car. Usually she'd be nervous singing in public, but no one was around to hear her except her mother. “I love you, baby! And if it’s quite alright I need you, baby, to warm a lonely night. I love you, baby~” 

"Trust in me when I say…."

Her head perked up. She picked her earbud out of her ear and was greeted by the roar of the ocean and the wind around her. The breeze carried a familiar voice from far down the beach. In the distance, she could make out the shine of a leather jacket.

"Oh, pretty baby, don't let me down, I pray. Oh, pretty baby."

It couldn't be. 

_Oh, but it could..!_

The small flicker of hope in her chest worked with her wild imagination, beating out the pessimism and doubt and downright sadness that hung clouded over the last two years of her life.

The sun was bright.

Her heart beat wildly in her ears, rushing through her body and into her feet, and the next thing she knew, Flayn was running towards--

A miracle.

She had prayed, and her mother sent her a miracle. 

\---

When Flayn returned to their motel room, Seteth had showered and changed into clean clothes. 

“Flayn! There you are!”

“You’re awake.” She didn’t want to give away what she was thinking of but she couldn’t stop smiling. “I wanted to go on one last walk before we left.”

“You wouldn’t answer your phone! I was worried sick!”

At least some things didn’t change over the past two years. 

Flayn shrugged. “I was just on the beach! Right there!”

The pancakes remained on the counter where she left them, cold and wrapped in saran wrap for the road. She was hungry when she made them, but no longer did she have an appetite. 

Seteth pursed his lips, staring her down. She wasn’t usually so eager to be up on their last day on the beach, but he let it go and glanced at his watch. “Check out is in a few minutes. Do you have everything packed?”

“Of course I do.” 

“Alright. We should probably--” He was in the middle of saying something like doing one last check around the room when there came a knock on the door. He frowned. Who could that possibly be? “You didn’t order room service, did you?”

“Nope!” Flayn flopped back onto her bed, sandy legs hanging off the edge. She buried her nose in her phone, hiding her growing grin.

Suspecting she was lying, Seteth rolled his eyes and went to answer the door.

“I’m sorry, but we’re about to leave--”

He stopped dead in his tracks. He was greeted with a familiar face.

His voice was barely a whisper-- an exhale that took the vague shape of a name.

“Byleth?” 

Byleth smiled his stupid, full-of-himself smile, like he was saying “Happy to see me?” with his eyes. He didn’t say that. Instead he simply shifted his weight, leaning onto his left leg, and replied, “Kind of weird to see you in a place like this.”

Seteth couldn’t respond. He stood, frozen, with his hand still on the door and his head still full of sleep. He was dreaming. This couldn’t be real. 

This couldn’t be Byleth. His hair was short again-- well, shorter than it was when he saw him perform the night before, and they were close enough for Seteth to be able to count all the new piercings in his ear. Close enough for Seteth to hope that Byleth couldn’t hear him thinking about running again.

“Cat got your tongue?” The musician asked him. A flash of doubt went across his deep blue eyes. He couldn’t be wrong a second time. He couldn’t be rejected again. At least not before he said his piece.

“What are you doing here?” Seteth asked him, dumbly, as his fingers slid down the side of the door and fell limp at his side. 

He took a step closer, and Byleth took one back.

“Well.” He looked over the other’s shoulder. 

From behind, Flayn pushed her father forward, out of the doorway. She should have done that two years ago, and she wasn’t going to miss her chance this time. 

“F-Flayn!” Seteth yelped.

“Have him back by ten!” She exclaimed as she swung the door shut.

Seteth tried frantically to open it again, but it was already locked. He froze up with his back turned to Byleth and his hand still gripping the doorknob. Silence floated between them, and Seteth felt sweat pricking the back of his neck. 

Of all the things he wanted to tell Byleth… Of all the regrets Seteth had and things that squeezed the air out of his lungs every day because they sat so _heavy_ on his chest…. He couldn’t pick a single one to say. 

“Seteth--”

“I--”

The two of them spoke at the same time, and neither made the move to tell the other to go first, so it went quiet again.

Byleth could only sigh. What did he expect? For Seteth to jump up and down with joy at the sight of him? 

“Listen, if you don’t wanna see me ever again, I get it. Really. If you want me out of the rest of your life because I fucked up your relationship with your sister and your parish and home, I won’t deny you that. You deserve it.”

Seteth’s breath caught in his throat. Here he was. Just letting Byleth go without a fight. Again.

“Just tell me you hate my guts. Say the word and I’ll get out of your hair, but let me just say--”

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go.” It took everything he had to say it, but Seteth gathered up every scrap of courage-- every ounce of his sadness and every last drop of self-pity that he had pent up and his pride-- and forced it out. His voice quivered as he said it, but he said it. He finally said it. 

“I don’t want you to go.”

Byleth let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Seteth…” He took a step closer.

The door next to them opened. It was a young woman with the handle of a rollaway luggage in her hand. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the two of them standing in the breezeway. “ _Byleth?_ ”

Seteth looked up to glance between the two of them, utterly confused. “Do you two… know each other?”

“You’re Byleth from Divine Pulse, right?” She asked him, letting go of her suitcase in shock. She took a step forward, one hand outstretched in disbelief. A rustling clamor began to rise from behind her at the sound of his name.

“Hi.” Byleth waved at her, forcing a smile. It looked real enough, but Seteth knew better.

“Oh my god, we just saw your show last night!” The girl squealed and poked her head back into her room. “Guys! You’ll never guess who’s at our door!”

From the room, the noise swelled with girlish yells. Seteth could distinguish about five or six different voices echoing Byleth’s name back and forth incredulously. They scrambled to greet him.

“Oh my god, I’m like a big fan,” they said. “I’m seriously in love with you,” they said as they crowded around them and shoved their phones in his face. Seteth held his breath as he helplessly watched Byleth be swarmed by fangirls. He appeared uncomfortable-- distraught, even.

“Look, guys, I appreciate the support, really--” Byleth said with his hands up in surrender. He looked to Seteth and reached for him. 

Seteth grabbed onto him, and the next thing he knew he was being pulled along into the parking lot, where Byleth’s Harley waited for them. Byleth threw a leg over it and kicked it alive.

“Get on.”

“What..?” Seteth stared at him like he was fucking crazy.

“Get on!” He grinned, and this time it looked sincere.

Seteth had no choice but to trust him. He awkwardly sat himself on the back of the bike, behind Byleth, who turned around, yanked him close, and wrapped Seteth’s arms around his waist.

“Hold tight.”

The motorcycle revved and sped off. Seteth felt his stomach flip, his cheek superglued against Byleth’s spine. The motel and the small horde of fangirls vanished from sight, and the road grew into a long and winding streak of grey behind them. They weaved between cars, and Seteth could feel his grip in Byleth’s jacket tighten each time they changed lanes. He could have sworn he tore holes into his jacket with his nails. Byleth was an incredible driver, swerving with confidence and ease, but Seteth had never been on a motorcycle before. He was pretty sure he was going to die.

The wind tore through Seteth’s hair and assaulted his cheeks and nose icily, but he felt hot. He felt hot and anxious and excited and scared and a million things in between.

“Where are we going?” Seteth yelled, but the wind whipping past them swallowed up his voice.

“ _What?_ ”

“I said _where are we going?_ ” He wanted to lean closer to his ear to ask but was afraid he’d upset the balance of the bike so he just screamed louder in hopes he’d hear.

“I have no idea!” Byleth’s ribs moved up and down under Seteth’s hands. He was laughing.

Of course he was laughing. 

\---

They ended up so far from the motel Seteth almost convinced himself that Byleth was going to take him all the way back home. When he did manage to pry his cheek off Byleth’s shoulder, he read the overhead signs as they cruised down a highway. They were somewhere south, surrounded by tall trees. They zipped by a banner announcing they had entered some sort of national park. 

Byleth coasted the bike into a parking space. 

“Where are we?” Seteth’s throat felt raw. He might have screamed every time a 16-wheeler cut in front of them.

“No idea!” He killed the engine and hopped off. Dusted off his jeans.

Seteth’s heart was still jack-hammering against his ribs, ready to burst. He lost feeling in his fingers and feet from the cold and adrenaline and didn’t think he could get off the bike. His legs had turned to jelly.

Byleth turned to him and helped him down, pulling one leg over to one side and then peeling his ass off the seat. “Your hair’s a mess.” He threaded his fingers through it, pushing it back into some semblance of it being tame. 

“Stop--” protested Seteth, holding Byleth by the wrists.

“Your hands are freezing too.” Byleth cupped Seteth's hands in his, even though he was just as cold, and blew hot breaths onto them. Seteth trembled in his hold.

"What are we doing?" The ex youth pastor whispered. He couldn't bring himself to break free.

"We're…" Byleth thought about that one, lifting his eyes to the canopy of trees that shielded them from the sun. "We're running away."

Seteth only sighed. "This isn't a fairy tale. We can't just… run away."

"Sounds like something someone in a fairy tale would say," he retorted as he rubbed his palms over the backs of Seteth's hands. Byleth began to walk backwards, away from the bike, leading Seteth by the hand. “Or what? You wanna be in a Lifetime movie? We _did_ just escape a mob of my adoring fangirls by motorcycle.”

“There were only about 7 girls.”

“Well, y’know. One’s company, two’s a crowd… Seven is a mob.”

“Don’t be stupid.” A chuckle bubbled in the back of Seteth’s throat, and he caught himself.

Why was he laughing? Why was he just... following, hand in hand?

Didn’t they have venom to spit at each other? Hatchets to throw at each other before they could be buried?

But Byleth didn’t seem to think about any of that. He simply read a sign over his shoulder and continued to whisk Seteth along in his silly little whims.

“C’mon, let’s see where this trail goes!”

Seteth still couldn’t find his voice.

They followed the trail with Seteth lagging just a little behind the other, linked by their fingers. There were things he wanted to tell Byleth. Wanted to scream at him and beat all of it into his thick skull, and while he was holding him down to beat it into him, he wanted to caress his face and count all the new piercings he’d gotten. Maybe he’d find another tattoo under his shirt and he’d kiss the skin there… He wanted to know what had changed in the past two years. What hadn’t? He wanted to know why Byleth came back. 

The two walked in silence for a good long while. The path was on a slight incline and definitely not made for penny loafers and pressed cotton shirts, and the weather wasn’t meant for leather jackets either. Hikers passed by them with full packs of water and walking sticks, looking concerned. By the time they had reached a clearing in the trees, they were breathing hard. Without the trees covering their heads, the sun beat down on them in full force. They stopped, almost abruptly with Byleth at the lead.

“Oh, shit. Would you look at that?” Byleth whistled once his eyes adjusted to the glare.

They were on a ledge that overlooked the ocean, and even from that high up, it was endless. Deep and blue, capped with white frothy waves. They jutted out from the side of a long, long stretch of craggy, orange cliff, dotted with green clumps of forest, with the rest of the trail snaking along it. The sky extended much farther than their eyes could see. There was a sign on the very edge, right before the deep plummet into the water-- a dizzying three hundred or so foot drop, it read. 

"Hey, watch this."

Byleth let go of Seteth’s hand for the first time in a long time and raced right up to the sign. It almost gave the poor man a heart attack. The musician leaned way over the edge, looking out over the ocean.

“Byleth, don’t do that--”

He was interrupted by Byleth screaming.

Byleth vaulted forward clinging to the sign and let loose, dumping everything he had in his lungs into one long sound he threw far over the sea, and the breeze whipped his voice right back into his face. His voice probably didn't even reach a hundredth of the ocean they saw before them.

Seteth's heart stopped. Despite the heat, a chill raced down his spine. He recalled that night-- in the ciborium of a crater, under a baldachin of stars. Remembered how frightened and lost he sounded but this… 

Byleth sounded… freer. Even screaming at the top of his lungs, it was like he had learned to breathe for the first time in a long time.

This was different. This had changed.

“Byleth--” Seteth clapped a hand on the other’s shoulder and peeled him off the sign. “You're gonna fall! People are staring!”

“Let ‘em stare!” Byleth exclaimed, the brightest grin plastered on his face. He took Seteth’s hand from his shoulder and pressed it against his lips. He hooked a finger through a belt loop in Seteth’s khakis and pulled him close.

“What are you doing?” Seteth couldn’t resist as the younger man continued to hold his knuckles against his cheek. He felt weak in the knees. Byleth could always make him that way.

The sunlight played on Byleth’s skin and cheekbones and nose in that perfect way. He was glowing. This… godless, dime-a-dozen Southern delinquent looked like an _angel_ to Seteth.

“You told me you don’t want me to go, so I won’t go anywhere.”

Seteth was struck dumb. “ _What?_ ”

“You told me you don’t want me to go,” repeated Byleth. He released Seteth’s hand, only to throw his arm around his waist. “At the motel.”

_Oh._

“I did?” The corners of Seteth’s mouth began to curl into a smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did!” laughed Byleth, and the sound was the most beautiful music to Seteth’s ears. He brought his face closer. 

“It was that easy?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say easy. I wouldn’t say any of this was, is, or ever will be easy.” Byleth continued to chuckle. He had both arms around the other now and was swaying from foot to foot.

“What do you mean?”

“Loving you is hard as hell,” he giggled.

Their noses touched. Their breath intermingled.

“And why do you think that?”

Byleth paused, appearing as if he was going to say something sagacious for once, but instead he only said, “Because you’re an _asshole._ ”

“Look who's talking,” Seteth murmured, and when Byleth closed his eyes he was already prepared to kiss him.

Seteth gave him a kiss.

He gave him two years’ worth of kisses. With his hands on the sides of Byleth’s face and the sun beating down on their heads, he poured his regrets into it, and he tasted Byleth’s own. The more he kissed him, the more he emptied out all the shit that had piled up on him while he was gone, and he felt lighter.

People were staring, but Seteth let them stare.

They almost forgot they needed air. After they finally pulled apart, the two of them stood in silence, their faces inches apart. They stared each other down with wide eyes and woozy smiles on their lips, letting the sound of their breaths and the waves from down below fill the air between them. Seteth touched Byleth’s face and neck, and Byleth thumbed Seteth’s waist under his wrinkled button up shirt, silent and giddy.

“You saw my show, didn’t you?” Byleth asked softly, a laugh dancing in his voice. “Last night?”

Seteth nodded, their foreheads touching and rubbing together. “I did.”

“What’d you think?”

“You were incredible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and that's all folks !
> 
> i still cant believe that an idea that i had months ago listening to fall out boy's "heaven's gate" would get me... _this._ ive made so many friends bc of this silly self indulgent fanfic and i had so so so much fun writing it!! thank you all so much for your support, i read each comment and like. cry about them for days. thank you all really... ;w; there's a spinoff in the works and there's NO angst i promise... but until then !!!! bye bye !!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> im literally so embarrassed writing this i'm so sorry seteth not only are you gay but you're also a bottom.... thanks for reading follow me on twit @ plcntagenet


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